Fade to Black
by rizlow
Summary: Sequel to Black Velvet. Dean is no longer a demon, but he's still cursed with the Mark of Cain, and the lure of that darkness grows stronger as time goes on.
1. Chapter 1

_He still has a hard time looking you in the eye. He's back, but he's not. Because he knows he's still on borrowed time, still carrying the Mark of Cain on his forearm, still cursed. You and Sam have forgiven him, but he is less forgiving of himself. As usual, he carries the weight on his shoulders, not willing to share the burden. And he refuses to listen to any plan to free him that might possibly unleash another possibly greater evil on the world._

 _You'll be here with him through it all. You would have gone to hell with him had it been the only option. You will be here with him through this hell. And you will help him be free from it, somehow, someday, or die trying._

* * *

For a while, Sam tries to get Dean to rest, take some time off, let himself heal inside. But sitting around, having time to actually think… that's never been his style. The trip to the lake, just sitting on shore, having a few beers, maybe fishing a little – that lasted a couple of days, but Dean was just going stir-crazy. And the slightest hint of a case perked him up more than all the idle time, staring out at the water and avoiding dealing with the aftermath of his death and dark resurrection.

You stay behind, sensing that the brothers need that time on the road, time to rebuild and heal, to be brothers again. You and Dean have some healing to do, too – but you can wait. You'll wait until he's ready, even if it takes a while, but your heart aches. He hasn't touched you since his cure, guilt and shame causing him to pull away, and every night when he goes to his room and closes the door behind him, it hurts. You know he needs time, but damn… it hurts.

Sam keeps in touch, calling every couple of days. They take care of a werewolf case, then run across a shifter, and finally Sam calls to tell you they're on their way home. He's worried, you can tell, but he can't talk in front of Dean. You ask him to give Dean the phone, tell him you love him and you miss him, taking his, "Me, too," like a drowning man grasping at driftwood.

When they get home, he accepts your hug, wrapping his arms around you briefly, then heading for his room. Sam looks a little haggard, concern sitting on his shoulders, and you sit down at the table next to him, putting a hand on his arm. "Sam, talk to me. What's going on?"

Sam sniffs, then sighs, hanging his head a little as his giant paw engulfs your hand. "I'm worried, Smalls." He looks up at you, continuing softly, wanting to make sure Dean doesn't overhear. "He's not – normal. The shifter had me pinned down, and he had to shoot her. But he just kept on shooting. Seven, eight times. I mean – one shot, one silver bullet did the job. I asked him about it, but he just got defensive, said it was his first kill since he got back, and he was a little anxious, wanted to make sure it was done right."

"And you think he what – just lost control?"

Sam looks at you again. "Yeah. It was like he just couldn't stop. I mean, I could be wrong. But it just... It felt off."

"I believe you, Sam. It could be what he said, but… if he's losing control, he shouldn't be hunting."

Sam took a deep breath, nodding. "Yeah. I know. But good luck getting him to admit it, or getting him to stay behind."

* * *

You watch from the doorway as he sits on the floor next to his bed, hunched over a huge ancient tome, completely absorbed in his reading. You speak his name softly as you enter, not wanting to startle him.

"Dean." He looks up at you standing above him, and it tugs at your heart when you see how worn out he is, the beginnings of dark circles beneath his reddened eyes. "Dean, you have to get some rest."

He exhales, an exhausted sigh that does nothing for his argument. "Baby, I have to find some answers. I can't risk going dark side again."

You sit down on the edge of the bed near him, your fingers wandering through his hair, massaging his scalp lightly as he leans his head against your thigh. "If you don't get some sleep soon, you won't be able to fight at all." He looks up at you, and you smile gently down at him. "Please, baby. Just come here and lie down with me for a while."

He takes a long, slow breath, blowing it out between his lips, then nods, laying the book aside and climbing up beside you as you scoot yourself to the middle of the bed. He lets you wrap your arms around him, resting his head on your breast as you continue to run your fingers through his hair, soothing him with your touch and your warmth. Within minutes he is breathing evenly, relaxed in your arms, and you let yourself fade into sleep beside him.

You wake up much later, unaware for a moment of what brought you back to consciousness. Then he jerks in your arms, mumbling, agitated, his fingers clutching at your shirt. All you can make out is, "No, no, no..." and something about Sam, and you slide down, taking his face in your hands as you talk to him quietly, calmly.

"Dean? It's okay, you're dreaming. Wake up, baby." He gives a little jerk, and then he's looking into your eyes in the dim light, slowly coming back to reality. You stroke over his cheek with your thumb, then move closer to kiss him. "I hated to wake you, but you were having another nightmare," you whisper, and for a few seconds he just stares back at you. Then he moves gracefully, quickly, and you're pinned down to the bed beneath him as his lips collide with yours, his hand squeezing at your breast as his tongue invades your mouth, and you melt into his touch. This is the first time he's kissed you with passion in so long, too eaten up by guilt at his time as a demon to allow himself to let go, but now he is almost desperate in his kisses, his hands clutching at you. You don't want him to stop, don't want to give him time to think about what he's doing for fear that he will do just that, and you are just as frantic in your need for him.

You unbutton your shirt, and he bites gently at your lips, moaning as his fingers touch your warm skin. He moves to bury his face in the crook of your neck, nipping and sucking at the tender skin there before making his way to your throat, your chest, tugging a nipple between his teeth through the silky material of your bra, making you gasp. He jerks the offending cloth down, then latches on, sucking and tonguing at you, making you arch up beneath him as he cups your still-clothed pussy in his hand. With shaking hands you reach to push down your panties and yoga pants, drawing in a sharp breath as he grabs you again, raising his head as he runs his fingers through your slick folds, then plunges two of them into you as deep as he can while he fumbles with his zipper one-handed.

You try to sit up a little to help, but the rhythmic thrust of his fingers has you helplessly bucking up against his hand, and you drop back in surrender as he shoves his jeans and boxers down far enough to free himself. His breathing is harsh, and he pulls his fingers free, guiding himself to your entrance and slamming into you hard, holding himself still as he bites down on his lip, fighting the urge to come. You remember how to exhale, your heart begins to beat again, and you squeeze tight around him, your legs shaking. He winces in agonized ecstasy, reaching down to rub rough circles over and around your sensitive clit, and you come with a loud cry of his name, destroying what little control he has left. He loops his arms beneath your knees, bracing his hands on the mattress, driving deep and hard into you until it fires off another cataclysm inside you, and you throw your head back into the pillow as he swears. "Fuck! Baby, holy fuck..." He's shaking all over as he reaches his end, holding himself inside to the limit as he explodes into you, then collapses, his head buried in your neck. You are both dripping with sweat, clothing twisted and half-removed, and for the moment you haven't even got the strength to lift a hand to touch him.

When you finally do run your fingers over his back, he moans softly, shuddering and twitching inside you, making you clutch around his slowly softening length with a shiver. He disentangles himself from you and moves, falling heavily beside you. "C'mere," he mumbles, and a wan smile curves your lips as you turn towards him, then stop and sit up.

"Wait." You finish pulling your shirt off, then unfasten your bra and toss it to the floor, sighing in relief. Then you tug at his jeans, removing them and his boxers from around his knees and thighs, and he kicks them off the rest of the way. He's still wearing his shirts, but you don't bother with them. You throw your leg over his thigh, slip an arm around his waist, and cuddle up on his shoulder with a contented sigh. "I should go take a shower," you say, but he tightens his arms around you with a soft grunt.

"Stay." It's more a plea than an order, and you smile, stretching to kiss his neck.

"Forever, if you want."

He's silent for a while, and you doze off a little. His hand is trailing up and down your arm, and his voice is a soft rumble in his chest when he speaks. "You keep me grounded, you know." You look up at him as he struggles for words, and you brush your fingers gently over his jaw as he leans into your touch. "When I'm not with you, everything seems like such a big fucking mess, like we're never gonna be able to fix it. It's like..." He hesitates, then looks down at you, and the look on his face makes your eyes fill with tears. "It's like everything is a big blur of chaos and death and evil. But when I'm with you the focus is clear, sharp, I can see my way through, you know?"

You blink hard, waiting to speak until you can trust your voice to be steady. "We'll figure it out. I promise. I'm not losing you again, Dean. Sam and I – we can't lose you again. So we'll find a way to fix this." You raise up far enough to kiss him, your lips clinging to his as your hand cups his face, and then you snuggle in as close as you can get, as if holding him tight will keep the evil at bay. Soon his breathing evens out, slows, and you let your eyes close as well.


	2. Chapter 2

You jerk awake as Dean's door bursts open and Sam comes in, his phone in one hand. "Dude, Jody just called…" Then he stops dead in his tracks, his face flushing as you grab at the covers. "Oh, shit!"

"Don't you knock? Come on, Sam!" Dean barks, and suddenly you are biting your lip to keep from smiling.

"Sorry. I'm… Smalls, I'm sorry. I didn't mean…"

"Sam, it's okay," you manage to say before giggling softly. Dean glares down at you incredulously, furrowing his brow.

"He just saw you naked, Y/N. Not funny."

You try, but you can't stop smiling. "Baby, he's seen lots of parts of me naked. How many times have one of you had to patch me up?"

"Yeah, well – this time he saw the whole package."

You laugh again, throwing part of the covers over him. "He definitely saw yours."

Sam turns to leave the room, his ears red. "I'm sorry, guys. Just… I'll fill you in when you're… after you… I'll be in the library."

You burst into full-fledged giggles as the door closes behind him, turning to face Dean, but the look on his face silences you immediately. "Dean… what? What's wrong?"

His jaw is clenched, his eyes flashing as he fires back. "What do you fucking think is wrong? My brother just saw you without a fucking stitch on! I'd think that would bother you just a little." He throws back the covers and rises from the bed, angrily snatching his jeans from the floor.

Your mouth is open, your eyes wide, and you have no idea how to respond to his fury. You finally speak quietly, unsure of what to say. "Dean, it was completely unintentional, you know that. It's embarrassing, yeah – but it's not a big deal."

He whirls to face you, pulling his boxers into place. "Yeah? Well, maybe it's not a big deal because he's seen you that way before. Maybe when you thought I was dead, you let him comfort you a little too much, huh? Maybe that's why you're okay being stark-ass naked in front of him!"

Your jaw drops completely, and now you're pissed. You jump from the bed, gathering your clothes into a bundle in your arms. "Fuck you, Dean." You stalk to the bathroom door, then turn to face him. "Apparently the cure left some demonic asshole residue. Because you fucking know better than to think I would have ever done something like that. And you know better than to think Sam would, either. Just – fuck you." You go into the bathroom and slam the door, turning the lock and then throwing your clothes across the room, knocking bottles from the counter with a crash. You hear him knock, but you turn to shout, "Go away!" and ignore him. You start the shower and climb in, your anger giving way to tears.

You get dressed, comb through your wet hair, and killing time and hoping like hell that he won't be there when you exit the room. But when you open the door, he's sitting on the bed, his head hung low. You stop dead in your tracks as he slowly lifts his head, a stricken look in his eyes. "I'm sorry, baby. I don't know what…" His head drops again as he murmurs, "I'm sorry."

You stare at him, wanting nothing more than to go to him, cradle his head against you. But it still stings, and there are more important things than your bruised feelings right now. "Better go see why Jody called, right?" you say softly, and he straightens, nodding once as he rises to his feet.

"Yeah. Should do that." He heads for the door, not looking at you at all, hesitating as he steps through the doorway. "You coming?"

"Go ahead. You guys can fill me in later." He nods again, and you plop down to the bed, then drop back, your arms splayed. You won't even mention this to Sam. He's got enough to deal with, and you'd rather not add to it. You'll just keep the nagging little worry nudging at the back of your mind to yourself, at least for now.

—

You finally go out a little later, and Dean's sitting there at the table, alone, focused on the laptop in front of him. "Where's Sam?" you ask quietly, and he glances at you, clearly uncomfortable, then glues his eyes to the screen in front of him as he answers.

"Beer run. We're gonna head to Minnesota tomorrow, Jody thinks there's something up there that might be our kind of thing." He stops for a moment, gnawing at his lip a little before turning his head to meet your eyes once again. "You can come along."

He's asking, you can hear it in his voice, but your answer is hesitant. "I don't know…"

"Please." He says it so softly you can barely hear, staring down at the keyboard, and the look on his face cracks your resolve. You walk over to him, and he turns in his chair, looking up at you, eyes full of remorse. You put your arms around his neck and bend to kiss him, and he gathers you in, scooping you onto his lap and hugging you tight. "I'm sorry, baby," he whispers, and you nod, your hand on his face as you kiss him again.

"So, what's going on with Jody?" you ask, and he fills you in as you slide from his lap, sitting on the chair near him as he puts an arm around you. You're both reading an article on the laptop from the Hibbing Herald when Sam walks in, beer and a pizza in hand.

"You're coming with, aren't you, Smalls? Jody'd love to see you," he says as he deposits a cold beer in front of each of you and opens the pizza box.

You smile at him as you open your beer. "Yeah. I guess it'd be good to get out of here for a while."

Dean smiles back as you look at him, leaning in for a kiss and then reaching for the pizza. Maybe getting out there, doing something normal – well, normal for your life – might relieve some of the tension. And it's always good to see Jody Mills.

—–

The drive to Minnesota is quiet. You're all a little awkward with each other, and it's easier not to manufacture conversation for the sake of noise. You sleep for a couple of hours, stretched out in the back seat, Sam and Dean's occasional random exchanges providing background for your dreams.

The drive straight through is a long one, with only a couple of stops, and you let out a sigh of relief at the sight of the motel. Dean parks in front of the office, getting out and stretching before going inside, and Sam turns to look at you over the back of the seat. "I told him to get two rooms. Hope that's okay," he says, and you smile softly.

"It's fine, Sam. We're fine. We'll be fine. I just hope you're not still feeling bad about… this morning."

"Dean seemed pretty pissed. I just thought I'd – I don't know – stay out of the way for a couple of days."

Your smile grows bigger. "You know Dean. He'll get over it. I think the Mark is just making him a little touchier than normal."

Sam nods. "Yeah, I think you're right." He opens his mouth to continue, but Dean comes out of the office, and he clamps his mouth shut, shooting another brief smile your way.

Dean climbs behind the wheel and drives around the building, parking in front of a side entrance. You all grab your stuff from the car, and you tell Sam 'good night' as he stops in front of his door. Yours is a few doors down the hall, and you sigh audibly, dropping your bag and flopping back on the bed as Dean closes and locks the door.

"Feels good to get the wheels out from under for a while," you say as Dean lands next to you, moaning a little as he stretches out.

"Yeah. I'm beat. You mind if we just go to bed?" he asks, taking your hand in his.

"Sounds great to me," you answer, giving his hand a squeeze, and then you turn to kiss him on the cheek. You look into his eyes, and he smiles a little before kissing you softly.

"You brought your fed clothes, right?"

"I grabbed the pantsuit," you say, stopping at the crestfallen expression on Dean's face.

"I was hoping for the skirt. I love the skirt."

You smile and tap his nose with your fingertip. "I'll put on a skirt for you when we get home – deal?" He smirks in reply, swatting your butt playfully as you get up to ready yourself for bed.

"Deal."


	3. Chapter 3

Well, that went well.

The whole thing started off okay. It was great to see Jody again, even though she was a little irritated that the guys had elected to show up when she told them she could handle things. Unfortunately, things escalated, Sheriff Donna Hanscum got initiated into the world of weird, and you all ended up tied to poles in the barn. The nest you'd been hunting was more like a vamp hippie commune – peace, love and mayhem for all.

Dean and Donna broke loose from their bonds and took the monsters out, you shared a couple of beers, and now you and the boys are on your way home again, after promising to give Donna a hand if she runs into any more supernatural-type nasties.

Dean shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his arm over your shoulders, and you look up at him, concerned. "Are you sure you're okay? You and Sam got hit pretty hard."

He squeezes you gently, his mouth twitching into what's supposed to be a smile. "I'm fine. Just some aches and pains, nothing to worry about. Sam, you okay back there?"

Sam moans a little as he moves. "Yeah. Just ready to be in my own bed."

"Amen to that, brother," Dean agrees, and you slide your arm around his middle, snuggling up on his shoulder, settling in for the long drive.

You get home and settle in, all trying to be normal, to act like everything's the way it's always been. But it's not normal, there's something off, and in spite of the fact that no one is talking about it, you all know it's that mark on Dean's arm. He's trying too hard, laughing too loud, brushing off every attempt to show concern, getting defensive if he walks in on you and Sam talking quietly, as if you're conspiring against him. You resort to surreptitiously texting each other to share information, both of you getting more worried as time goes on.

You're sound asleep beside Dean, curled up at his side, when he sits up suddenly with a muffled cry. "Dean? Baby, what is it?" you ask, switching on the dim lamp on your side of the bed.

He doesn't answer you, just sits there, his chest heaving as he fights for air. He reaches his left hand over and grips his right forearm, squeezing. You can see the portion of the Mark of Cain that isn't covered by his clutching fingers, and it looks angry and red, almost pulsing with a life of its own, and the nagging worry you've been feeling begins to bloom into fear. "Dean…" you begin softly, but he pulls away as you reach for him, halfway to the door before he speaks.

"I'm fine, Y/N," he says, his voice curt, and he leaves the room, leaving the door open in his wake. You squeeze your eyes shut for a moment, trying to pull yourself together before climbing out of bed to follow him.

He's standing in the middle of the room, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck, when you walk in. You don't know what to say, you don't know whether you should approach or just stay back, and he turns to look at you as you hesitate.

"I told you, I'm fine." The hard glint in his eyes softens immediately at your expression, and he glances away before locking his eyes on you again. "It's just the nightmares. And I don't want to talk about it. Talking just makes it… I just… just go back to bed. Please." His voice pleads with you, and you don't bother hiding the tears in your eyes as you look back at him silently for a moment before nodding. You turn slowly and leave him, managing to get back to the bedroom before a tear slides down your cheek.

You wake up the next morning, your head aching, and as you reach beside you to find the bed empty, your heart joins in. Sleep eluded you most of the night, and now you force yourself from the bed and into the shower, craving a hot cup of coffee and Dean's arms around you.

You walk into the kitchen, heading for the coffee pot, but Dean sticks his head in before you get the chance. "Cas needs our help – get what you need, we're taking off in five," he blurts out, so you turn off the coffeemaker, running for the bedroom to throw a few things into your duffle before meeting the boys at the car.

—–

You lean against the Impala, listening to Dean berate Cas. "Seriously, Cas? We drove all this way because some chick bolted on you?"

"Claire is not just some chick, Dean," Cas argues. "I'm responsible for her."

"Since when? You met her once, how many years ago? She rolled you, and she ran, Cas. Pretty clear that she doesn't want to play house."

Cas just stares stoically back at Dean, a stubborn set to his jaw. "I understand that. But I need to know that Claire is safe. And I need your help."

Sam finally steps forward, and Dean bites back the words that were on the tip of his tongue. "Okay, Cas. How about if Smalls and I go check out the group home?"

Dean stares at Sam for a moment, then relents with a sigh. "Yeah, fine, we'll hang here in case she decides to return to the scene of the crime." He looks at you, rolling his eyes a little at his naive friend, shooting you a faint smile. You move towards him, sliding your arms around his waist for a hug before heading to the car with Sam.

You ride in silence for a couple of minutes, but curiosity gets the best of you. "Sam, who is this Claire?"

Sam takes a deep breath, slowly releasing it before he answers. "Cas' original vessel was her father. Lucifer killed Cas while he was in his body. Like, disintegrated him. Long story, but God brought Cas back. He's always felt guilty, and I guess it's finally getting the best of him."

"Wow."

"Yeah. He still looks like Jimmy, too, which makes it even more awkward. And I think Cas feels like he needs to make up for some – well, let's just call them well-intentioned mistakes. He's feeling pretty strongly about wanting to help this girl. So I guess we do our best to give him a hand."

You nod in agreement as you exit the car, running in to book a room for the night before grabbing your bags and changing into your FBI gear.

—–

"So – Dustin Tate. Hopefully he can give us some idea where Claire would go," you mumble, looking at the notes you had jotted down during the meeting.

"Hope so. Maybe a good night's sleep first, huh?" Sam answers, glancing over at you.

"Yeah, I know. I look like I haven't slept for a week. Last night wasn't good, Sam," you say softly. "Dean's nightmares are getting worse, and he won't talk about it. He never came back to bed. I don't know what to do anymore, I have no idea how to help him." Your last word almost fades into tears, and you bite down on it hard, refusing to break down… again. Sam's hand engulfs yours and squeezes gently.

"We'll find a way, Smalls. I promise you that." You look up at him, the determination on his face, and it comforts you a little. At least you're not alone in this.

You get ready for bed in near silence, everyone inside their own heads, and as you crawl beneath the covers, Dean is still sitting at the table, whiskey in hand. He has the laptop open, but he's staring at it without seeing, and you know he's lost in his own thoughts again, gone somewhere you can't follow.

"Coming to bed?" you ask quietly, and he looks up at you, blank for a moment before his eyes soften and he gives you a gentle smile.

"In a little bit," he says, and you smile back, then lie down and turn to your side, listening to Sam's steady breathing in the bed next to you and letting the day fade away.

You are sound asleep when you feel Dean's solid warmth behind you, his hand slipping beneath your shirt to glide over your waist, his breath hot and whiskey-scented as it washes over your neck.

"Come outside with me," he whispers, his lips soft on the spot below your ear, and arousal sings through your body as every nerve wakes at his touch. You turn your head towards him and nod, shivering at the drag of his fingers across your skin.

You slip out of the room, Dean shoving the key card into the back pocket of his jeans, and as you near the car, he simply engulfs you. You are surrounded by him, the heat of his body, the sheer strength of his arms, and he kisses you like he needs it to live.

He moves until your back is against the car, and he fumbles for the door handle, finally ending your kiss so he can let go and climb inside the back seat, unfastening his jeans and shoving them down around his knees. "Come here, baby," he whispers, letting you crawl in over top of him, then reaching to close the door before coaxing your knees to rest on either side of him. "Need you so bad," he murmurs against your neck, his hands on your hips, pressing you down hard against his erection, and his moan makes you whine a little in response. You awkwardly move enough to let him shove your shorts and panties down, managing to pull one leg free before he pulls you over him and slowly sheathes himself in you, leaving you breathless as he guides himself deeper and deeper. His fingers are digging into your thighs almost painfully, his forehead pressed into your shoulder as your arms tighten around his neck, and you struggle to keep still, to let him back away from the edge. When he starts to kiss your neck, to run one hand beneath your shirt and let out a soft sigh as he cups your breast, you shift a little against him. You can feel him deep inside you, and he holds you in place, not allowing you to back away, just grinding his hips up against you.

He's pinching and plucking at your nipple as he sucks a dark mark into the soft flesh where your neck meets your shoulder, and you undulate against him, whimpering as he captures your lips with his, fierce and possessive. He grabs at your shirt, and you lift your arms, letting him pull it over your head and bury his face between your breasts, one hand still on your hip and the other cradling the back of your head. He sucks greedily at a nipple, then lets out a soft groan as you begin to move against him like waves on the shore, and he lets you hold his head against your chest as you let everything go but the overwhelming pleasure of him piercing you to the core. He finally bucks up beneath you hard, and you feel him swelling, pulsing inside you, sending you over the edge as he erupts with a loud moan.

"Dean!" His name forces its way out between your clenched teeth, a seemingly never-ending shudder rippling through you as you clutch him to yourself. You moan his name again softly as he finally stops moving, his body going lax against the leather seat as you collapse over him, chest heaving. His hands roam slowly over your back, your hips, the length of your thighs as he nibbles little kisses over your face, then gathers you in, tucking your head into his shoulder.

He begins to speak softly, "Baby, I'm so…", but you stop him, placing your fingers against his lips. He kisses them, and you feel him bite at his lip as you raise your head from his shoulder to look at his face in the dim light from the one working light in the parking lot.

"No more sorries," you whisper. "That mark on your arm is affecting you, making you act differently sometimes, and it's not always something you can control. I don't want you tearing yourself up over it. I am in this for the long haul. I didn't back away when you were a demon, and I'm not leaving you now when I just got you back." You kiss him, and he leans into it, hungry for your acceptance as you take his face in your hands and will him to feel your love for him in this moment. When you pull away again, you smile gently, your fingers tracing the planes of his face. "Besides, I love how you apologize."

His eyes narrow a little, a playful light beginning to glow in them as a crooked smile curves his lips. "Oh, yeah?" You bite at your lip as you nod, and then you gasp a little as he moves, proving to you that he's getting hard again inside you as his lips claim yours.


	4. Chapter 4

You're all waiting for Dustin Tate when he comes strolling down the sidewalk towards the Wiener Hut, his hands in his pockets. Sam steps forward, his voice casual. "Dustin Tate?"

The kid glances at him, then ducks his head. "Nah, man." He tries to walk by, but Sam puts a hand out, stopping him.

"Oh, really?"

Cas moves quickly past Sam, grabbing a handful of the boy's jacket and shoving him against the wall. "Yes, you are. And you are going to tell me where Claire Novak is." You watch, eyes wide, as Cas grips Dustin's neck and lifts him up higher against the brick wall. He gasps and chokes as Cas glares up at him, and then Dean walks up beside you, hot dog in hand, his mouth full as he speaks.

"I'd do what he says."

After Dustin spills everything he knows, you all pile into the Impala, heading for the location Cas terrorized out of him. "She's robbing a convenience store? What kind of kid is this Claire, anyway?" you ask, and Cas stares back at you with a ferocious frown.

"Troubled. She needs our help, and we're going to help her," he barks at you, and you hold your hands up in mock surrender, glancing at Dean in the rear view mirror. He looks back at you silently, and you get his message, keeping your mouth shut for the rest of the drive.

You get out of the car and stay put as Cas enters the store. Sam and Dean lean against the front of the Impala as you wander aimlessly, and you're back by the trunk when Cas pulls an angry little blonde from the building. She jerks her arm from his grasp, yanking the hood from her head. "Claire, wait!" Cas says, and she turns, her face twisted with rage, almost spitting as she fires back.

"Screw you!"

Dean straightens to his full height. "Whoa, hey, Miley Cyrus. Settle."

"Eat me, Hasselhoff!" she snaps back, and your eyes widen. Cas points back at the building, a thunderous frown on his face.

"You were going to rob that convenience store?"

"So?"

"So? So - it's wrong!" he fires back, his voice filled with reproach.

Claire's face is twisted with indignant rage as she shouts back. "You wanna talk about wrong? You killed my dad, is that wrong enough for you?"

He shakes his head. "No, I didn't."

"Really? Because without you, he'd still be here. And my mom would still be around."

The guilt flooding through him shows clearly on his face as he begins to answer, "Claire, I…" - but then she pulls a gun from her pocket and aims it at his chest. You feel every muscle in your body tighten, moving slowly towards the front of the car. "That won't hurt me," he says calmly, but she swings the gun around, aiming it towards Sam and Dean.

"Whoa! Hey, come on," Dean says, his hands and Sam's hands in the air as they take a step back. That's when you move, stepping in front of them, your eyes spitting sparks as you approach the girl.

"Claire, is it? Listen, you put that gun away. Put it down. Now." You clench your teeth so hard they hurt, staring her down until she wavers a little.

She glares at you, the gun still aimed at you. "What?! Like they don't have it coming? They stood there and watched while this monster took my dad." There's the hint of a sob in her voice, and suddenly her arm drops, the gun dangling at her side, and Dean reaches to clamp a painful grip on your arm, pulling you back towards them. "I used to pray to you, Castiel. Every night. I asked you to bring him home safe."

"I know." Cas speaks quietly, looking at the ground.

"You know – my father was a good man. In what messed-up world does he have to die and you get to live?"

"I'm sorry," Cas says, looking back up at her, and your heart aches for him.

"No! You feel guilty, there's a difference."

Sam speaks up, his voice calm. "So now what? You run back to Randy? The guy you steal for?"

"How do you know about that?" she spits back at him, and Dean answers her quietly.

"Dustin."

Cas takes a step towards her, but she backs away. "Claire, that man is using you."

She glares at him defiantly, backing farther away as she speaks. "He was there for me. When things got bad—and they got _real_ damn bad—he was there when no one else was. _He's_ my family. And you're just… you can go to hell." Then she turns and runs, and you finally exhale.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean's voice rings out angrily above you as he yanks you around to face him. "You get in some crazy person's face, a messed-up kid waving a gun around? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

You can't look him in the eye. You know he's right, but it pisses you off anyway. You jerk your arm away and stare back at him, your eyes bright with anger. "I guess you're not the only one allowed to throw themselves into the fire." Then you spin on your heels and walk away, climbing into the back seat as his gaze burns hot between your shoulders.

"So, we'd better get out there. If that loan shark Dustin talked about shows up, she'll be in a world of hurt," Dean says, his voice tight, as he climbs behind the wheel. He throws an angry glance your way over his shoulder, then cranks the engine as Sam and Cas get inside.

You're still fuming when you get to Randy's place, sitting in the back seat, arms folded like a sullen child. You refuse to look at him as he turns around, but he's still pissed, too. "You stay here. There's nothing but human assholes in there, not monsters, and I don't trust your judgment right now." You turn your head and look obstinately out the window, and you hear him huff out a frustrated breath as he gets out of the car, the door closing with a solid thud.

You're outside, leaning against the Impala's front fender, when the shit hits the fan. The door flies open and Cas comes stumbling out, Claire clinging to him. You can see Dean and Sam inside, guns drawn, and Dean's voice shouting, "Go!" Sam backs out, turning to help Cas and Claire to the car, and you open the back door for them.

"Claire, are you hurt?" you ask, and she shakes her head, still hiding her face in his coat. You go around to the other side as Sam goes to the front, and as you open the door, Sam turns his head towards the house, his eyes wide.

"Dean," he says, panic in his voice, rushing back to the house. He throws open the door, looking back at you with horrified eyes before running inside.

Everything is happening so fast, and yet… it all seems bogged down in time, like the nightmares when you try to run but your feet are mired in quicksand. Claire's screams still echo in your ears and Cas shelters her in his arms, shock on his face as he stares inside the cabin. You push by him, but horror stops you barely two steps in, your shaking hand coming up to cover your mouth as bile rises up in your throat. You run back out the door, shoving Cas and Claire out, away, then emptying your stomach on the dry grass outside.

"Take her to the car," you say as you stand upright again, and Cas nods, his eyes still wide, Claire still burrowed into his chest as she sobs. You swipe the back of your hand across your mouth, taking a shuddering breath, then walk back in, trying not to smell the sharp stench of blood and death and slaughter.

Sam has his hands on Dean's face, and as you watch, he lets them drop slowly. Dean looks destroyed, and as he turns his head to look at you, his eyes are full of tortured remorse. "I didn't mean to," he mumbles lifelessly, his hands lying limp in his lap as he kneels on the gore-spattered floor, his bloodied knife now in Sam's hand.

Sam looks up at you, his eyes filled with tears, and you approach Dean, sinking to your knees beside him. "Dean," you say softly, and he sways, letting you pull him close, holding him in your arms. "Sam, what do we do?" you ask, and Sam swallows hard, his eyes closing for a moment as he tries to get himself in hand.

"There's some gas in the trunk. Can you get him out to the car?"

You stare at each other for a few seconds, then you nod. Sam rises to his feet, and you follow suit, holding out your hand. "Come on, Dean. Let's get you out of here." His eyes dart around the room, and you reach for his hand, pulling at his arm. "Dean!" You say his name sharply, and he turns his focus back to you. "Come on, get up. Come with me." You help him struggle to his feet and guide him to the door, pushing resolutely as he tries to turn back and look.

You open the passenger side door, urging Dean to duck and get inside. "You can't let him in here!" Claire screams, flinching away, burrowing even deeper into Cas' side, terror and fury twisting her features. Cas tightens his hold on her and hushes her gently, and she buries her face in his trench coat, crying. You try to ignore her, helping Dean into the front seat, then getting into the back. The trunk slams shut, and Sam climbs behind the wheel, breathing hard, his hands shaking a little as he turns the key in the ignition and backs up, then swings the Impala around and leaves the cabin in a cloud of dust. You watch in the rear view, waiting for the sudden flare of orange light behind you as the fire catches in earnest, and you meet his eyes in the mirror for a split second. Then he reaches to adjust it and puts his focus on the road ahead, Baby's headlights pushing back the night as you speed away from the nightmare behind you.

—

You stop in Lebanon long enough to get a motel room for Cas and Claire, then head for the bunker. No one has words, or the strength to use them, the silence almost pulsing around you.

Dean goes straight to the shower, and you gather his bloody clothes before leaving him alone. You take the whole pile to the laundry, stuffing them into the washer, wondering if it will even be able to remove all the evidence of the slaughter. As you wash your hands and arms in the sink, Sam walks in. He lays a hand on your shoulder, and you stop for a moment, realizing that you are scrubbing your skin raw. "You okay?"

You hang your head a little, shaking it slowly. "No. Are you?"

He huffs out a humorless little chuckle. "Hell, no." He leans against the table as you turn to face him, drying your hands. "We have to do something, Smalls." His hands are gripping the table's edge, his knuckles almost white. "We didn't bring him back from being a demon just to watch this thing take him over. I just – are you with me in this? Whatever we have to do to save him, even if he fights it?"

You finally look him in the eye and nod once. "Whatever we have to do."

Sam chews his bottom lip a little as he stares back at you, then gives a nod and pushes off the table, putting a hand on your shoulder and giving it a squeeze before he leaves the room.


	5. Chapter 5

You get dressed after a long, hot shower, letting the water beat at the tension in your neck and shoulders. You stayed with Dean all night, waking him from his nightmares, holding him as his body quaked. Your heart aches with the longing to just fix things, to take away the pain, the agonizing remorse.

You had left him sitting on the bed, freshly showered and dressed, but still silent. As you walk down the hall, you pause in his doorway, watching as he still sits there, lost in his own mind. You take a breath and move towards him, and he tilts his face up as you stand in front of him, running your fingers gently over his cheek. "Hey."

He surrounds you with his arms, pulling you close to stand between his knees and burying his face in your chest, and you hold him tight. Your hands roam, soothing, over his brown plaid, caressing his back and shoulders, fingers running through his hair, willing him to feel your acceptance.

After a time, you ask softly, "Coffee?" and he lifts his head, nodding slightly.

"Yeah." It's the first word he's spoken, and you almost feel silly at the relief that floods through you. Before you leave him, you bend to kiss him softly on the lips, and his hand raises to the back of your neck, holding you to him as you rest your forehead against his for a moment. You smile gently as you step back, trailing your fingers down his arm and off his fingertips as you turn to leave.

You send a little wave of greeting to Sam and Cas as you walk through the library, not stopping to join their quiet conversation. You hang out in the kitchen for a while, needing to do something, anything… so you fry some potatoes and onions, crisp up some bacon and scramble a few eggs. You're on your way to call them in for breakfast when you hear Dean's voice, frustrated and angry.

"Well, then, burn it off! Cut it off!"

You stop where you are, watching. Dean is clutching his forearm, his fingers digging into the mark desperately. When Cas speaks, you can barely hear him.

"It is more than just a physical thing. It will take a very powerful force to remove the effect."

Sam is looking at the floor as he joins in. "Dean, we have been through all the lore. There's nothing."

Cas continues thoughtfully. "This reaches back to the time of creation. It may pre-date the lore. If we had the demon tablet, maybe."

Sam looks up at him sharply. "But you said it was missing."

Cas looks at Sam, then Dean, then drops his eyes, reluctance in his voice. "It is. But there may be another way." He looks directly at Dean. "Metatron."

Now you can't restrain yourself, your voice shaking with anger. "Metatron? Have you lost your fucking mind, Castiel?" All three men look at you, finally aware of your presence. "What makes you think that he would do anything to help us. Especially Dean. He killed Dean, Cas. What are you thinking?"

Sam turns to face you, staring directly into your eyes. "Whatever we have to do, Smalls. Remember?"

Your stomach is churning at the thought of dealing with that evil bastard, at the situation you all find yourselves in, and you grit your teeth for a moment before you're able to speak. "There's breakfast in the kitchen," you grind out, then turn on your heel and leave the room.

You're standing in the middle of the room you share with Dean, your arms wrapped around yourself, when you hear his voice from the doorway.

"You made all that good food, and you're not gonna eat?" He speaks softly, and you let your head drop to your chest, waiting for a moment to get yourself under control.

"Not so hungry right now. You go ahead." He moves up behind you, his hands on your upper arms, rubbing gently. "You can't trust him, Dean. He is not going to help you. He wants you dead, remember?"

You feel him press his lips to your hair before laying his cheek on top of your head, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close. "Nobody trusts him, baby. We just want to threaten some information out of him, that's all. Then he's going back to Heaven's lockup."

"He took you from us." Every muscle in your body is tense, the memory of the day Sam brought you home still excruciatingly clear as it flashes through your mind in minute detail.

"But I'm here now." His words are soft, but emphatic, and as he gives you a squeeze, everything breaks loose. Your knees wobble a little, your tension and control gone as tears begin to slip down your cheeks, and he turns you to face him, holding you tight against him. "I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere, baby." He kisses you, tasting your tears and wiping them from your face, then hugging you tight once more. "Come on. Help me eat some of this food. Sam's gonna make himself sick."

A little half-cry laugh escapes you, and Dean gives you a crooked little smile, taking your hand and moving towards the door, pulling you along with him.

* * *

Sam asks you to stay away while they bring the wanted-to-be-but-couldn't-quite-cut-it god into the bunker, locking him down in the dungeon. You stay in your room for hours, trying to read, watch Netflix, do research on your laptop, anything to keep your mind off what's going on in the depths of the bunker. You finally give up and crawl into the bed, letting your body make up for the poor sleep it's gotten lately.

Your eyes open as you hear a faint shout, then pounding, sounding like it's miles away. You finally wake enough to remember that there's an enemy within the walls, and the sounds mean trouble.

You quickly pull your jeans back on and slip your feet into your shoes, yanking the door open and running for the dungeon. You get there just in time to see Cas use his angel power to blow the door apart before he and Sam rush inside. You hear screaming, and Dean shouting angrily, then Sam's voice rings out loud and clear. "Dean! No, Dean – hey, stop! Stop." You look into the room to see Sam pulling Dean away from Metatron, taking the angel blade from his hand. "You were killing him."

Cas is unbinding the severely injured angel, supporting him with one arm as he moves towards the door, towards you. "I have to take him back."

Sam tries to talk him down, but Cas is adamant. He has his own troubles with his heavenly family, and he made promises. But Metatron begins to shout as Cas brings him closer, defiant to the end. "If you ever ask me for help again, I will choose death! You realize it's gonna get worse, Dean. You're gonna get worse!" His bloody smile is evil, and you can see Dean staring after the angel, seething at his taunts, the mark on his arm an angry red. Something snaps inside you, and you launch yourself at Dean's tormentor, his murderer, knocking him to the ground as you land on top of him, punching at his face and body as you scream down at him.

"You killed him! You fucking asshole! You took him from me! I'll kill you myself..." You find yourself in midair as Sam and Dean each grab an arm, lifting you away from the cringing coward. "You son of a bitch!" you scream after him as Cas pulls him from the room and disappears. They release you, and you stand there for a moment in a blind fury, then grab at a box from the shelf and jerk it off, flinging it as hard as you can, papers raining down behind you as you storm down the hall.

When they catch up with you, you're standing in the library with a bottle of whiskey at your lips, swallow after swallow burning down your throat. Dean takes it from you, and you shove at him, both hands against his chest, but he doesn't move. He gives a little nod to Sam, who quietly leaves the room, then sets the bottle down and pulls you into his arms. "It's okay. Y/N, it's okay."

You shove away from him, still furious and high on adrenaline. "No, it's not okay! There is nothing okay about any of this!" Dean stands there quietly and lets you rant, and you do just that, moving around the room, waving your arms wildly as you yell. "You took that mark because you wanted to kill Abaddon. And then that fucking douche killed you, and I wished he had killed me, too." The look of pain on his face should stop you, but it doesn't. The dam has broken, and you can't stop. "Then you come back as a demon, a fact which Crowley just conveniently forgets to tell you. You trap me here, and..." Your voice breaks and you stop for a moment, overcome, and he takes a step towards you, but you hold out your hand, warning him off. "No, stay away. Do you even have a clue? Do you have any idea what this has done to me? What it still does to me, watching you fight this fucking evil thing that has its hold on you? Not being able to do a damn thing to help..." You stop suddenly and turn to walk away, going back to your room, and he tilts his head, taking a deep breath before following closely behind.

He walks in, taking a few steps before turning at the sound of you slamming the door. You move towards him, grabbing his shirt in both hands and ripping it apart, buttons skittering across the floor, and you yank the cloth from his arms, then reach for his t-shirt. He lets you pull it over his head, and then you shove him, hard, and he lands on his butt on the bed. "Y/N," he starts, but you push at him until he's on his back.

"Shut up." You go for his jeans next, and as you jerk at them, he lifts his hips a little, letting you pull them down along with his boxers. He lays there, his chest rising and falling with his heavy breaths, watching as you rip the clothes from your body and approach him. You bend to remove his boots and finish stripping him down, and he scoots backward on the bed as you crawl between his legs, intent on your purpose.

He is already hard and leaking, and he rears his head back as you grab him, moving to straddle his hips and impaling yourself without warning. You cry out at the stretch inside your body, slick and tight, clenching around him, and he sucks a hissing breath in through his clenched teeth, swearing softly. He watches your face, your eyes squeezed shut, your bottom lip clamped between your teeth, watches until your eyes open and you look down at him. You begin to move, slowly at first, and his eyes roll back for a moment at the intense sensation of you surrounding him, your nails digging into his chest. He reaches for you, lets his hands rest on your thighs, letting you drive.

It doesn't take long, you are so high on emotion already, and soon you are grinding against him with all your strength, shaking, muscles seizing as you come hard. You collapse on his chest, and he runs his hands up and down your back as you slowly begin to relax. "Don't leave me, Dean" you whisper, and he pulls back a little until he can look into your face. His hand reaches to tilt your face up, his lips soft, caressing, and then he surrounds you with his arms and turns until you are on your back looking up at him.

"Not leaving," he whispers back, kissing you again, moving his hips with a groan, his cock still rigid and hot within you. You whimper softly into your kiss and move with him, and a low moan rumbles in his chest as he begins to move. You wrap your legs and arms around him, pulling him as close as you can, meeting each thrust, and he buries his face in your shoulder as he drives himself over the edge, his fist clenched into the pillow next to you. You come again, a quiet wash of sensation this time, and he grunts a little, sensitive even to the gentle contractions fluttering around him. He pulls out, dropping to your side and pulling you immediately into his arms, cradling your head against him. "I'm not leaving you," he whispers again, and you don't answer, just stay blanketed in the comfort of his arms around you and the fierce determination in his voice.


	6. Chapter 6

You look up as Dean drops a plate in front of you, then plops down in a chair beside you. Sam is looking down at his plate, then at Dean, incredulous. "You made egg white omelets?" he asks, and Dean nods.

"Yeah. I figure if part of getting through this is me, then maybe I should twelve-step this mother. I haven't had a drink in a week, and I figure I'll detox, avoid burgers, junk food, you know – most of the stuff that makes life worth living. If it helps me control this thing – I don't know. Can't hurt to give up my vices temporarily. Well, all but one." He shoots a wink your way, and you blush a little as you smile. He sits down and takes a bite of his eggs while you and Sam dig in.

"Wow, that's good," Sam says, his mouth full, and Dean drops his fork to the table.

"It's crap."

You laugh softly and give him a one-armed hug. "It's good, really. Just takes some getting used to."

* * *

At least there was a faint glimmer of hope these days. You had run across a messed-up case involving Charlie a couple of weeks ago, and – long story short – she was now on the hunt for the Book of the Damned, something Sam had come across during your never-ending research into stopping the Mark of Cain. Dean was determined to fight back in any way he could manage, which meant clean living, healthy eating, and even working out in the ancient gym in the bunker. Gym - kind of a glorified name for a smallish (for the bunker) room with floor mats, punching bags, a couple of antiquated weight machines and a musty smell, and you're on your knees on the mat, in the middle of scrubbing that smell away with soap, water and bleach, when Dean walks in.

He takes a deep breath, nodding in approval, smiling in your direction as you sweep the hair from your face with the back of your arm. "Better?"

"Yeah, babe, it actually smells – nice in here. You want some help?"

You smile up at him, so glad to see him relaxed for the moment. "Almost done. Then you can give me a massage for all these sore muscles I'll have in the morning," you joke, but his eyes light up as he bites his lip.

"Oh, I am all over that, sweetheart," he says, his voice soft and gruff, and you feel the color come up in your cheeks.

"I hate how you can always make me blush," you retort, tossing a towel at him as he laughingly ducks and you miss him by a mile.

"Really? I kinda love it," he teases, bending to untie his boots and slipping them off.

You watch him warily as he closes the door, then turns to walk towards you. As he draws near, he drops to his knees, crawling closer, and you shake your head at him. "Dean. No. I'm all sweaty and gross." He bends to kiss your neck, and you shove at him, cringing. "Dean!"

"You're not gross," he mumbles, going for your neck again, his arms slipping around you. He nips and nibbles at you, and your resistance slowly ebbs away. You feel him grin as you relax back against his chest, and he slips his hand into the waistband of your sweats, moving inexorably downward until he cups you in his hand, the damp silk of your panties the only thing between him and you. "Mmmmmm, yeah…" he moans, "Definitely not gross." He gives you a little squeeze, and you let your head drop back against his shoulder as his lips ghost over your ear. "Wanna wrestle?"

"What if Sam..." you protest weakly, all the fight gone from you as you feel his fingers slip beneath the edge of your panties.

"I locked the door."

"Oh, Dean…." you moan softly as he touches you, slipping two fingers inside as he rubs himself against your lower back. He sucks gently at your neck, leaving a mark as his fingers stroke over you, into you, languid and sensual. Soon you are rising up, pushing yourself harder against his hand, your thighs shaking, and he brings his other hand down to massage your clit until you come with a desperate cry of his name.

He keeps right on dragging his fingers in and out, his other hand moving up beneath your tank top and opening the front clasps on your bra. He moves it out of the way, sending a shudder through you as he brushes over your nipples, then brings his arm back out and pulls your tank top down, exposing you as he groans softly. "Damn, baby, just look at you," he says, his voice rough as he gives each breast a squeeze, biting down a little at the curve of your neck as he watches himself pluck and stroke over each sensitive peak. You're a whimpering mess, bucking against his fingers, your head thrown back against him as he kisses and nips at your exposed neck.

"Dean, please..." you beg, and you hear him swear under his breath as he withdraws his fingers from you, his lips brushing over your ear as he whispers, asks you to lie down. He takes your tank top and bra off and lowers you down to the mat, and you gasp a little at the smooth cool surface against your back. Goosebumps bloom over your skin, and Dean swears again, bending to suck a nipple into his mouth as he works the rest of your clothes off, tossing them without looking, then undoing his jeans as you bury your fingers in his short hair, holding him to your chest as you arch up to meet his mouth.

He doesn't bother to completely undress, just shoves everything down far enough to free himself, then lifts his head and guides your legs up around his waist as he pushes into you, slow and steady. He bends to kiss you, and you shift beneath him, smiling slightly at the way his eyes close and his teeth clamp down on that lower lip, making you want to join in. "You know, I just cleaned this thing." The words come out breathless as he gives a little thrust, and the grin he answers with makes your heart skip a beat.

"I'll clean it again. Totally worth it," he says, and then the grin fades and he kisses you hard as he drags himself back, then drives into you, the impact of his body against yours sending shock waves of intense pleasure through you. A few more pumps of his hips and you're crying out, your voice echoing in the room as your muscles clench around him, and he rolls to his back, carrying you with him, watching your face, your body quivering above him. Then his hands are on your thighs, his fingers gripping tight as he holds on to you, his feet planted on the mat as he fucks up into you hard, chasing his own orgasm. When he comes, he comes hard, forcing a shouted curse from him, and the sensation of him pulsing inside you sends aftershocks through your body. You lower yourself down, kissing him, both of you fighting for breath, and then you drop to his chest, your face buried in his neck. "Fuck, baby," he whispers, his arms closing around you, and you can still feel him twitching inside you.

You huff out a little laugh, kissing his neck. "I'm pretty sure we just did."

You fall asleep half-dressed on your bed after your shower, and when you wake up, you smile. That was the most – well, normal, for lack of a better word, that you and Dean had been together for quite some time. And it let that little glimmer of hope inside you start to glow just a little brighter.

After you get dressed and venture out, you find the brothers, heads bowed together over the laptop. Dean gives you a slow, affectionate smile and pulls you in next to him with one arm. "Looks like we might have a case. You're coming, right?"

Your smile fades. "I don't know..." He's looking at you with those puppy-dog eyes that he and Sam have perfected down to a science, and you can never say no to either of them when they use this tactic. "Not fair, Dean. But – okay, I'll go." You smile and shake your head at his victorious grin, letting him pull you to his side, his arm around your shoulders.

* * *

As much as you love road-tripping with the guys, you are so relieved when Dean pulls into the motel. Oregon is a long drive from Kansas, and you're so ready for a hot shower and comfy clothes.

Sam and Dean head for the bar to talk to the locals about the missing man that triggered this hunt, and you stay behind, glad for a little alone time. You're curled up on the bed with a book when Sam walks in.

"Hey, Smalls." He looks around, his eyes noting the open bathroom door, and his brows draw together in a confused frown. "Where's Dean?"

You stare back at him. "I thought he was with you."

"We split up. I went to check out our missing guy's apartment, Dean was fishing for info from the local bar crowd."

"Well, he must have found someone talkative, or decided to hustle some pool. Or maybe he said screw it and jumped off the wagon he's been on." You look at each other, both trying to be casually non-concerned, but you're both worried. You just don't talk about it, at least not yet.

After an hour of pretending everything's fine, neither of you believing it, and trying several times to call Dean with no success, you go into the bathroom to change into jeans. You and Sam head for the bar, hoping to walk in and find him playing pool, shit-faced and happy.

You walk in, Sam right behind you, and even though you're not surprised, your heart sinks. He's not there, and you watch as Sam walks to the bar to ask about him. The bartender shakes his head, and Sam walks back to you, his lips pressed tightly together. "He said he hasn't seen him for a couple of hours. I don't like this, he would have called if he was following up on something."

You nod in agreement, watching as Sam pulls out his phone yet again and dials Dean's number. You both slowly turn your heads at the sound of Dean's ring tone coming from behind the bar. You follow closely behind Sam as he walks over towards the bar, watching as the barkeep reaches down below and silences the phone. "Did my friend leave a jacket here?" you ask, your expression causing him to swallow hard. He shakes his head no, and Sam glares.

"Really?" he asks, a clear threat in his voice. "Where'd you get that jacket?"

"My Bar Mitzvah," the bartender smarts off, and Sam moves so quickly that you step back in surprise as he slams the burly man's head to the top of the bar.

"Wanna try again?" Your eyes are wide as you watch the expression on Sam's face, his usual calm demeanor gone, the lethal hunter taking over.

"Yeah, yeah… okay. I found it by the dumpster. About an hour or so ago." Sam stares at him for a split second, then releases him and reaches over the bar to grab Dean's jacket. He takes your arm and ushers you outside, handing you the jacket, and you follow him around the side of the building to where the dumpster sits.

Sam shines his flashlight over the area, and you see it reflect off some shiny surface under the edge of the dumpster. You reach for it, pulling Dean's gun from the shadows as Sam turns to face you holding one of Dean's shoes.

"What is that all over Dean's gun?" he asks, brushing a yellow powder from the handle, then sniffing. "I was thinking sulfur, but – I think it's flowers!" he says, and you look at each other, puzzled. "Maybe it's some sort of spell?"

Now you're getting worried, and you can see he is, too. "Maybe we should get back to the room, in case he shows up, and see if we can find something that fits what's been going on here? Witches?"

"I don't know, Smalls, but I don't like it. I think you're right, let's try and get some kind of theory together before I go talk to that old homeless guy Dean and I questioned again. Maybe he wasn't as crazy as we thought."

You're on your laptop, researching spells that use yarrow. Sam figured out what the powder was pretty quickly, and he was searching for transportation or transfiguration spells on his own computer. You almost jumped out of your skin when a knock echoed through the room, and Sam was on his feet, gun drawn, nodding for you to open the door.

You pull it open a crack, starting to ask, "Can I help you?" when a kid around fourteen or fifteen years old shoved his way into the room, pulling off his red ball cap.

"Hey, babe. Sammy." Your eyes widen as you look at him, then up at Sam, watching as his mouth drops open and he lowers the gun slowly.

"Dean?"


	7. Chapter 7

"Dean?!" You stagger back a step or two, and you notice absently that you and Sam are wearing the same expression – shock.

"Yeah, yeah – I know. But it's me. For fucking real."

It is completely disconcerting to hear Dean's speech – if not his voice – coming out of that mouth.

You stumble back towards the table and almost fall down onto the seat of the chair. "What the hell? How?" at the same time Sam is stuttering, "W-wait a second. Y-you're a…"

"Uh-huh."

"How?"

"No clue. Some scarface-looking dude, bright light." This – kid – the kid with all of Dean's mannerisms - is loading Dean's gun, stuffing it into the back of his jeans under his – hoodie? You shake your head, trying to clear it, as he continues. "Next thing I know, I wake up looking like Bieber."

"Why would someone turn you into..."

"Don't know. Don't care. Hey, we got any grenades?"

"What?" Sam reaches out to stop him as he tries to walk past, clearly focused on something other than answering questions. "Wait. Wait a second. Talk to me."

This small version of Dean stops and fires off a bitchface that would do any fourteen-year-old proud. "Really, Sam? Now? I got no grass on the infield, and a girl's gonna die. Sorry if I'm not in a chatty mood. Now, come on."

Your wide eyes meet Sam's, and as mini-Dean opens the door and heads out, Sam gestures with his head to follow. You blow out an incredulous breath and rush to join them, pulling the door shut behind you.

Riding in the back seat with Sam at the wheel, you are now struggling not to laugh at the ridiculous situation. Watching Sam thank the woman at the motel when she told him how polite his 'son' was, and then seeing Sam folded up like origami as Dean moved the seat up for his much younger, shorter legs – well, you can't help but see the funny side of it all.

Sam keeps glancing over at Dean until he finally rolls his eyes and sighs. "What, Sam?"

"I'm sorry, man, but this is just bizarre, even for us. I mean, you're like, what – fourteen? How does it even feel?"

Dean shakes his head. "I don't know. I mean, I'm me – like, old me – but I'm a kid. I don't know, it's weird, dude. And…" He huffs out a reluctant breath before he continues in a rush. "I've got like nine zits, my voice is all weird, and I have zero control over this," he blurts out, gesturing at his crotch, and you are biting your lips to keep from laughing. "I mean, it's up, it's down, it's up for no reason, and you," he says, turning to look at you in the back seat, "I see you and I think I'm gonna burst." That's the last straw, and you cover your mouth to try and muffle the burst of giggles that forces its way out. "Oh, yeah, laugh it up. Real funny. You try going back through puberty and see how you like it!"

Sam is contorting his face, trying not to smile, and you do your best to stop the laughter. "Dean, baby… I'm sorry. It's just so…" He jerks away from you as you touch him, trying to soothe him, and you pull your hand away as he turns to glare at you.

"Don't fucking touch me. Now, see? There it goes!" He turns around in a huff, folding his arms across his chest as you smother your giggling under your hand as much as possible.

"I'm sorry," you manage, and then sit back and focus on controlling your urge to laugh.

After a moment or two, Sam clears his throat. "I – uh – checked out the alley where you disappeared. Found yarrow."

"Okay. That means what?"

"Well, it's a flower, used in a lot of spells. I figure maybe a witch?"

Dean sniffs. "So, we still got some of that witch-killing crap in the trunk?"

"Yeah. So we'll get you turned back, then burn the bitch."

"Yeah. About that..." Dean stops for a moment, and you feel the atmosphere in the car shift. "So, it turns out this whole thing has an upside." He pulls up his sleeve, and you hear Sam's sharp intake of breath.

"The mark? It's gone?"

"Yeah."

"How the hell..."

"I guess it threw me back into my fourteen-year-old body, and – I didn't have the mark then."

"And if we reverse the spell..."

"It comes back."

You move up close to the front seat, apprehension in your voice. "Dean, you're not thinking about staying like this?"

He shrugs a little, glancing over his shoulder at you. "I don't know. All I know is, we've gotta kill that bitch. Then we'll figure it out." He takes a deep breath, then looks back at you and winks. "I mean, after all – you could take my virginity. Bet you'd make my first time really magical." An evil little grin lights up his eyes, and you shove at his shoulder, slumping back against the back seat, shuddering at the thought. "Now who's laughing, sweetheart?"

You shove the heel of your hand against the back of his seat, hard. "Brat!" He chuckles as you shake your head, and you shoot Sam an angry look as he meets your eyes in the rear view mirror with an amused smirk.

Sam turns off the headlights and kills the engine, letting the Impala coast to a stop not too far from the dilapidated farm house. He turns and holds out a gun, his face tight and worried. "I don't really want…" He stops and takes a breath, then begins again. "We might need the backup. If nothing else, maybe we can distract them, and you can help Tina." You stare into his eyes for a moment, then nod and take the gun, glancing at Dean.

"Don't do anything crazy, just try and help her. Just stay safe. Promise me," Dean says to you, and his jaw clenches in that way it always does when he's worried or angry.

"I promise, Dean. And you guys be careful, too."

Dean leads you to the back of the house as you pick your way through weeds and the debris from dead and dying trees that litters the yard. He pushes the basement window open a little, calling out quietly. "Tina! Tina?" He turns, a frown of concern on that young face, lips pressed together. "We'd better hurry. Sam, why don't you go around back, find another way in."

"I'll go in through the front, meet you inside," you whisper, and you all rush in different directions, worry for the girl's safety urging you to hurry. The door opens freely, to your surprise, and the fact that this witch has no fear does nothing for your confidence. You dim your flashlight, stepping quietly though the house, the aroma of soup wafting towards you as you make your way towards the only light that's on in the house.

You flatten yourself against the wall by the kitchen doorway, peeking quickly to catch a glimpse of an old woman chopping vegetables at the counter, and a girl tied and gagged on a chair behind her, eyes wide with fright and panic. The woman hums to herself, tossing the veggies into the pot and giving it a stir. "Your friend J. P. didn't have much meat on his bones. But a good cook works with the ingredients she's given," she cackles, a strong European accent evident in her voice. She lifts the ladle to her lips to take a sip, and you swallow hard, your stomach churning, listening to the terrified captive whimper in fear and disgust. The witch turns, and you flatten yourself against the wall again, still listening, waiting for Sam and Dean's signal to enter. "Oh, don't worry, liebchen. You're too good for soup. I'm thinking a nice sweet chili glaze, a few hours roasting in the oven. And an apple in your mouth." She cackles softly again, and you clamp your jaw tight, wanting to burst in and shoot her now, but you know it wouldn't do any good.

You hear the metallic squeal of the huge oven door being opened, and you risk a quick peek again. The witch is feeding wood into the fire, and the girl's eyes land on you, terrified and pleading. You put a finger to your lips, warning her, and she gives a quick nod. As you hug the wall again, you hear the sound of a door, and the witch speaks again. "Hansel?"

"And pals," you hear the younger version of Dean say, and when you take a look, you see his gun and Sam's trained on the witch. She laughs, almost gleeful, as you step into the room, joining them with your gun drawn.

"Well, our lost lamb. I thought we'd have to go looking for you. Maybe even abandon our home sweet home here. I never dreamt you'd be stupid enough to come back on your own." With another evil cackle, she points towards the Winchesters. "Hansel, take care of them. I can handle her," she says, finally looking your way.

"Don't count on it, you evil bitch," you grind out between clenched teeth, but she only smiles, her mouth full of black and rotting teeth. She mutters an unfamiliar word, waves her hand, and your gun flies from your hand, sliding across the floor.

"Y/N, get out of here!" Dean shouts as Hansel grabs for Sam's gun. "Shit!" He fumbles with the witch-killing Molotov cocktail in his hand, trying to get it lit before Hansel gets to him. The old woman waves a hand, muttering her magic words, and the bottle flies from Dean's hand, smashing against the wall. "Shit!" he swears under his breath again, dropping to his knees as he watches Hansel hold Sam's own gun to his head. You start forward as she is focused on them, trying to reach your gun, but with another wave of her hand, the witch sends you crashing into the wall, and you hear Dean call your name as you sink into darkness.

You wake slowly, sharp pain in the back of your head, the murmur of voices becoming clearer along with your vision. They coached you well, you know enough not to move or make a sound to draw attention to the fact that you're conscious, but it's not easy.

The witch is talking, telling them how luscious American children are, and your spinning head does nothing to alleviate the wave of nausea at the thought. You can see Dean and Sam against the wall, the huge man they called Hansel still holding Sam's gun on them.

"So, you're a tourist?" Dean asks, and she shakes her head.

"No. It's business, not pleasure. An old friend is causing trouble, and the Grand Coven asked me to take care of her. Poor, stupid Rowena."

"Rowena?"

All hell suddenly breaks loose as Sam jumps up, punching Hansel in the face. The witch grabs her butcher knife, heading for the fight, but Sam disarms her before she throws him forcefully into a bookcase, then watches as Hansel manhandles Dean. You tear your eyes away, crawling towards Tina while the others are distracted. You hear the oven door squeal on its hinges as the witch swings it open, but you have to get to the girl.

You pull your pocket knife out and cut through the ropes binding the frightened girl, coaxing her down onto the floor with you. You catch a glimpse of Dean's bloodied face as you urge her towards the door, and as you send her through, a blinding flash makes you turn to see what's happening. Dean – full-grown Dean – emerges, bending quickly to retrieve the butcher knife from the floor and shoving it to the hilt into Hansel's chest. He turns without hesitation, grabbing the witch and cramming the hex bag into her mouth, then shoving her towards the open oven door as she struggles in vain. You catch a glimpse of his face, angry and merciless, as he pushes her into the flames and slams the door shut, sliding the latch home as she screams in agony.

"Come on, Tina," you say, grabbing her arm and pulling her outside, away from the horrible sights and sounds inside. She sobs once, and you hug her, then lead her to the car, putting her into the back seat. You assure her that you'll be right back, and you head back to the house, reaching the yard just as they come stumbling out.

You can't stop the quiet sob that escapes your lips as you catch sight of Dean, and you walk into his arms, almost bowling him over, letting his arms surround you. He puts a hand up to hold your head to his chest, but brings it away covered with blood. "Hey, you're bleeding," he says, pulling back, but your arms are locked around him and you're not letting go. "Hey, hey..." he says, taking your shoulders and making you step back a bit. "We need to get you back to the motel, have a look at that, get it stitched up." You sway, suddenly a little dizzy, and he catches you. "Baby, come on, let's get you to the car."

"Sam? Sam, are you okay?" you manage, and he answers quietly.

"I'm okay, Smalls."

You stay in the car after bidding Tina goodbye, watching as the guys talk to her, give her the news that they can't turn her back to her adult self. She actually seems to take it pretty well, and you watch as Dean gives her a hug, tells her to take care. It's surreal to see him in those too small clothes, clothes that had been hanging on him when he was his fourteen-year-old self. This whole experience was surreal. Hansel and Gretel? A witch that eats children? You read the story as a child, and you wonder vaguely how many other stories were based on horrifying fact instead of fiction.

You sit in your motel room later, snugged in between Dean's thighs as he cleans the wound on the back of your head. It stings like a bitch, but you bite your lip and keep quiet.

"You were awesome in there, sweetheart," he says softly, being as gentle as possible as he cleans the cut, reaching for your hand to put it on top of your head to hold the hair out of his way. "You did great, getting her out of there. We'll make a hunter out of you yet."

You make a derisive noise, then wince as the alcohol burns into your cut. "Yeah. Right. Thanks, but no thanks."

"This is gonna hurt, babe. I'm sorry," he says, and you take a deep breath as he begins to stitch. You're trembling as he finishes, exhausted with the effort of holding still, staying quiet, not wanting him to feel any worse than he already does at your pain. He takes your hand, lowering it back down, then kissing the top of your head, his arm slipping around your waist and tightening in a hug.

"Thank you," you whisper, finally letting a tear slide down your cheek. The adrenaline, the stress, the pain, are finally too much. He hears the small whimper from your throat, and he coaxes you to turn around, straddling his legs as he tucks you into his chest.

"I gotcha," he murmurs into your hair, his hand soothing, rubbing gently over your back. You pull back after a couple of minutes, looking into his eyes.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did that – what they did to you, did it..." The words rush out of you until he stops you with a finger to your lips.

"I'm fine. No weird side effects. And yeah, the mark is back." Your face crumples a little, the last little shred of hope that it had been eradicated disappearing with his words. "Hey," he says gently, his hand cradling your face, "it's okay. We're just back to where we were, looking for a solution. We'll figure it out, baby. We'll figure it out." He kisses you gently, a soft moan in his throat, before he raises his head a slightly and gives you that little smirk that makes your stomach do a flip. "Also, touching you still gives me a hard on."

You laugh, then groan, wincing in pain. "Not funny."

"Not joking. But you're not in any shape to fool around, so I guess I'll just tuck you in and go take a shower." You pout, and he laughs softly. "Yeah, that's how I feel, too. But we'll scratch that itch when you're better. Okay?"

You smile reluctantly. "I guess. Since I have no choice. And my head is pounding." You crawl off the bed and let him pull the covers down, then slip beneath them, laying on your side. He pulls the blankets up around you and bends to kiss your forehead before heading to the shower. You listen as the water comes on, your eyes growing heavy, and you let yourself feel the relief at having him back, even with the mark. Dean is right – you'll figure it out.


	8. Chapter 8

At times like this, it's hard to believe that what you really, truly want is to spend all of your time with Dean. Well, at least most of it.

But when you need him to be on a beer run, or in the shower, or working on Baby, or _anything_ other than in the room – he's like metal filings on a magnet. You know Sam wants to talk to you, he's been sending glances your way all morning. It's like he _senses_ that you and Sam want him gone so you can talk privately.

Finally, late that afternoon, he goes after a beer and finds the fridge empty. He comes into the room, keys in hand, asking if you want to ride along. Your eyes flick to Sam and then you smile at Dean, shaking your head. "I was just going to get in the shower. You go ahead – you won't be gone long, right?"

"Nope. Strictly a beer run. You guys want pizza?"

You and Sam both agree on pizza, calling out your toppings as he heads for the garage. When the door finally closes behind him, Sam looks at you, rolling his eyes. "Son of a bitch. He is the hardest person to get rid of sometimes."

"Well, talk fast, Sam," you answer, and Sam takes a deep breath.

"Okay. Here goes. I think we should find that Rowena that the witch mentioned. She must be a pretty powerful witch, and maybe she'd help us out since we kind of saved her from the hired gun sent to kill her. Maybe there's a spell, some ancient magic that would take the mark from Dean."

"How do you propose we find her? Take out an ad on Craig's List?"

Sam smiles at your sarcasm. "Hey, it could work. But no, I have an even worse idea. Crowley."

You laugh out loud. "So we're going to ask the King of Hell to help us find a witch – and you think they'll help us get the mark off Dean's arm?"

"Just listen. Crowley isn't happy about Dean having that mark – not since his little plan to have Dean be Super Demon didn't work out. I think he'd be willing to help us put Dean back in the 'human with no possible super-powers' category. We all know, if something happens to Dean, that we're right back to black eyes and no impulse control. Crowley thought he had a partner, and instead he found out he was in over his head. I think – I hope – that he might be willing to help us get that mark gone for good."

"And you think this witch could…"

"I think we'll need someone with pretty powerful magic. And I think Crowley could help us find her."

"And you don't think we should talk to Dean about this first?" You look across the table at Sam until he finally drops his gaze.

"Dean hates witches. Hates them. And we both know how he feels about Crowley. We haven't heard from Charlie lately, so I don't even know if the Book of the Damned is an option. But I know Dean, and he won't want anything to do with a witch."

"I don't like going behind his back, Sam."

"I know, Smalls. Believe me, I know. But until we find out if it's even a possibility, can we just keep it between us? I'll do all the dealing with Crowley. I'll tell Dean I'm going to follow up a lead on my own, I'll make something up. And we'll just see where it takes us. Agreed?" You finally press your lips together and nod reluctantly. You hate the whole idea of hiding things from him, but you also know how he can dig his heels in. At least this will save the battle until you know it might actually be an option. You head to the shower, trying to ignore the pangs of guilt that are already plaguing you.

You shower and dress in sweats and one of Dean's flannels from the closet, and you're just entering the room as Dean comes in, bearing beer, pizza, and what looks like movie junk food. "Pizza and a movie, guys?" he asks, and you nod with a smile. "Sammy?"

"Sure, why not?"

"Awesome." Dean drops everything on the table and goes to the kitchen to put the beer in the fridge and grab some plates. He comes back, carrying a beer for each of you, setting the plates down and opening the pizza box. "So. Why don't you two fill me in on the big secret meeting of the minds you had while I was gone."

Your breath freezes in your lungs, and you can't even look at Sam when he speaks. "What? What's that supposed to mean?"

You look at Dean as he responds, and you know it's pointless to pretend. "Come on, Sam. I can read you both like a book. You couldn't wait to get me out of here. Whatever you're planning, or thinking about planning, or already fucking have in the works – we're gonna talk about it first. Now. Talk. Then movie."

You glance over at Sam, who is staring at the table top, his lips pressed into a thin line, his shoulders hunched over in frustrated defeat, and he looks up at Dean angrily. "Fine."

Dean glares back at him. "Fine. Let's hear it."

"Remember when that witch mentioned that she was here to kill someone named Rowena? That the Grand Coven sent her?"

Dean's face is made of stone, his jaw clenched. "Yeah?"

"Well – I figure we'll need somebody powerful, magically powerful, to remove that mark." Dean stared back at Sam, unmoved, so he continues hesitantly. "And I plan to ask Crowley to help us find her."

"Oh, you plan to do that, do you? Like Crowley wants to help me - help us - with anything. Are you fucking losing it, Sam?" Dean shouts at his brother, then turns his eyes on you. "And you were going along with this bullshit? What are you two thinking?"

You feel something snap inside, and you shout right back at him. "I was totally against keeping this from you, but Dean – this is _why._ You won't listen to anything! You just want to keep battling the symptoms, and avoid doing what needs to be done to take the cure! There is no set-in-stone, by-the-book, do-it-the-right-way solution to your particular affliction, in case you haven't noticed. Do you think Cain would have carried that mark all this time if there was an easy way to get rid of it? Do you seriously think we're not going to have to deal with some evil along the way? The Book of the Damned that Charlie's looking for – does that sound like a good thing? Here's an idea for you, Dean – how about you fucking stop fighting us every damn step of the way, and face reality. You made a deal with evil to get that mark, and we're probably going to have to do the same to get it gone. And maybe – just maybe – if we all get on the same page, we might get somewhere!"

You set your beer bottle down, hard, and turn to leave the room. When you reach the bedroom, you slam the door as hard as you can, sending echoes reverberating throughout the bunker. You didn't mean to, but God, it felt good to get that off your chest. Weeks of tiptoeing around, trying not to stir him up, trying to avoid an explosion like the one you just set off, have taken their toll, and you are shaking like a leaf from the sheer force of it. You clasp your quaking hands together and grit your teeth, determined to keep from crying. You just want Dean back, safe and normal, whatever that is. You want it so badly it physically hurts.

—-

You give yourself – and the guys – plenty of time, you hope, to cool off and calm down. After sitting in your room alone for at least an hour, you decide it's time to go back out there and face the music.

Dean's sitting at the map table, laptop open, and he doesn't even turn his head as you walk into the room. He gnaws on the inside of his lip a little, and you know he knows you're there. "Where's Sam?" you ask quietly, and you watch his jaw clench.

"Fuck if I know."

You take a deep breath and exhale slowly, determined not to let him bait you. "Did he leave the bunker?"

He turns in his chair, looking up at you with that stubborn set to his jaw that tells you he's still pissed. "Yeah. He left."

You stare at each other, both stubbornly waiting for the other to speak, and finally it's you that gives in. "So – what now?"

"You tell me, you guys are the ones with all the big plans."

You bite down on the flash of anger that threatens to spill out again, waiting for a few seconds until you can control your response. "We didn't think it was worth getting you all riled up if there wasn't a chance it could even work. And for all we knew, she could say no, or Crowley could tell us to fuck off."

"This is about me, about fixing me." He's stabbing his forefinger into his chest, and you're surprised to see not just anger in his eyes, but hurt. "I'm not good enough the way I am, even though I'm trying like hell to keep things under control, and apparently I can't be trusted to be in on whatever the fuck gets done to take this mark off me. I feel like fucking Hannibal Lecter on lock down around here! Everybody's walkin' on eggshells, be careful, don't upset Dean, he might go postal and slaughter everyone!"

You feel tears sting at your eyes as you watch the emotion on his face, and you step forward, holding your hand out towards him. "Dean, no! That's not how it is at all!" He shoves his chair back, almost tipping it over as he stands and walks away a few steps, and you let your hand drop to your side. "Dean, we just want you to be yourself again without the threat of that thing hanging over your head." He stands there, his back to you, as you approach him. His hand raises to rub the back of his neck, and you move up close behind him as you continue, your voice almost inaudible. "I want you to be able to relax, to be at peace. I just want to help, Dean. I love you, and I can't stand to see you tear yourself apart the way you do." You slowly slip your arms around his waist from behind, laying your face against his back as you hug him, and you feel him calm, little by little, as you hold him close. "I'm sorry. I swear I will not hide anything from you again. Please, Dean. Just – please don't be angry at me anymore."

You feel him take a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and then he turns and you're in his arms, wrapped up tight against him. You stand there silent, arms locked around each other, until you hear Sam's voice from the stairs, soft and hesitant.

"So, is it safe for me to come back?"

Dean looks up at him, not loosening his grip on you. "Depends. Are we done with the secrets?"

Sam comes down the stairs, nodding in agreement. "Yeah. No more secrets." He reaches the floor and stops, contrition shining in his eyes. "I'm sorry. I was just afraid you'd say no before we even found out if they could help. But I shouldn't have tried to hide it from you, and I shouldn't have pulled Y/N into it."

Dean nods slowly, then kisses the top of your head before releasing you, standing with one arm draped over your shoulders. "You guys just have to know, I'm fighting this thing as hard as I can. But I've gotta be able to trust you. I need to know that there's no bullshit going on behind my back. I need to trust you, and I need you to trust me."

"I know. I know, Dean. You're right. And I'm sorry." Sam stared into his brother's eyes until Dean finally dropped his head a little, nodding.

"Okay." He looks down at you, a barely-there hint of a smile on his lips before bending to kiss you, but a cheerful voice ringing through the bunker turns all eyes to the top of the stairs.

"Buon giorno, bitches! I'm back!"


	9. Chapter 9

Some takeout and a few beers later, and Charlie pulls her bag over close to the table. "So, it wasn't easy, and I had to duck some Indiana Jones wanna-be's who were after it, too – but here it is. The Book of the Damned."

The exclamations around the table broaden her smile as she slides it over towards Dean. "You really found it. Damn, Charlie! That's…"

"Don't get too excited. I can't read a word. And I've tried every code-breaking program and theory I could find." She looks at him, a wistful smile on her lips. "I'm sorry, Dean. I wanted to help you fix this."

Dean's eyes crinkle as he smiles, reaching across the table to put his hand on hers. "Charlie, come on! You found this thing that's been missing for a thousand years, and then you're disappointed that you can't decode it in a week? Give yourself a break!" They smile at each other, and then he pulls back, putting an arm over the back of your chair. "Besides, these two have an idea about someone who might be able to help."

"First, let's grab some more beer, and I'll fill you in on what Dean was like when he was fourteen," you tease. You wink at him as you stand up to grab the empties, gesturing for Charlie to follow you to the kitchen. She is laughing, confusion on her face, asking questions as you leave the room. The bunker soon echoes with laughter as you fill her in on the witch, Hansel and the de-aging of Dean.

Your smile fades as you come back and see Dean, completely absorbed in the book. "Don't tell me you can read that thing!" you say, incredulous, but he doesn't react to you at all. "Dean?" You say his name three times before he looks up, his eyes far away, and Sam's brow furrows with concern.

"Dean? You okay?" he asks as his brother stares at the ancient pages, swallowing hard.

"No. That thing… it's like it's calling out to me. Well, not me. To the mark." He looks down at his forearm, and your eyes follow. The mark on his arm is almost pulsing, angry red, and he grips it tight with his other hand. "I think we should just destroy it. Now."

Sam reaches for the book, pulling it towards him as he closes it. There's a stubborn set to his jaw, and his voice rings with finality. "No.

"No? What do you you mean, no? Did you hear what I just said, Sammy?" You put a hand on Dean's shoulder, feel his agitation, and squeeze, urging him to calm down.

"No, Dean." He looks into his brother's eyes, determination in every feature of his face. "Not until we get Rowena to look at it. Not until we find out if there's something in here that can help you."

Dean tries to stand, but you press down on his shoulder, making him pause. "Dean, he's right. Remember what I said? About maybe having to deal with evil to get rid of that mark? Well – this might be it. And maybe – just maybe – that mark is trying to get you to destroy the one thing that could save you."

You watch Dean's jaw work as he considers your words, and after a long moment of silence, he finally speaks. "Lock and key. I want that thing locked down, Sammy, you hear me? And away from me."

Sam nods, picking the book up and leaving the room. You put your arms around Dean's shoulders from behind, leaning down to put your cheek against his. "Thank you."

"For what?" His voice is flat and frustrated, and you hug him a little.

"For letting us try."

"They're right, Dean." Charlie says, and Dean looks at her, his manner gentling a little as it always does with her. "We need to keep you around. So just try to relax a little, let someone else do some of the heavy-lifting, okay?" Her words are said with affection, and as she smiles at him, you can feel him relax against you a little more. She takes a deep breath, then stands. "Well, I'm gonna – go. I'll be back tomorrow, maybe we can work on figuring this all out. You two, you need to spend a little time together. So go – spend." She shoots a wink your way, and you smile, ducking your head a bit as Dean's hand comes up to cover yours.

"See you later, Charlie," you call as she heads up the stairs, then you nuzzle your face against Dean's. "What do you say, Winchester? You wanna – spend a little time together?" You nibble gently at the lobe of his ear, then let out a little shriek at his reaction. You find yourself on his lap, a little out of breath at the swift efficiency of your capture.

You sink into the feel of his lips on yours, the easy glide of your tongues, as he kisses you. His hand is warm as it cups your breast, the nipple hardening beneath his touch. You pull back for a moment, warm and tingling all over, and bring your hand to his face, his soft stubble tickling at your palm. "Maybe we should go to our room before…"

"Before Sam comes back?" You look up to see Sam's grinning face, and you blush a little as you smile in answer. Dean brushes his thumb over your nipple and leans in to kiss you again, a promise of what's to come. Then he helps you to your feet, standing with a hand on your back, turning to look as Sam speaks again, hesitant. "Dean – are we… are we okay?"

Dean puts his arms around you, his chin on the crown of your head as he looks at his brother. "Yeah, Sammy. We're good."

You squeeze him, smiling into his chest. He releases you, taking your hand as you head down the hall. His hand engulfs yours with calloused comfort, strength that makes you feel safe, loved, protected.

When you reach your room, the door closed behind you, he looks down at you with heated focus. His hands move to your waist as he steers you backward until you are against the wall. He bends to kiss you, fingers entwining with yours, and he slowly lifts your arms until he has you pinned there. His kiss is searing, his body hard and warm against you, his thigh pressed between yours.

He finally lifts his head, and you take in a shaky breath as he stares down at you, a wicked gleam in his eyes. "Damn - I just want to tie you down and make you scream my name," he growls. A soft whine escapes your lips as he lifts his thigh a little higher, the pressure on your throbbing core almost too much, yet not enough.

"Do it." You whisper the words and a thrill runs up your spine as he hisses a breath in through his teeth.

He raises his chin a little, then speaks, his words hesitant. "Are you sure? I wouldn't blame you if you didn't trust…"

Guilt is seeping slowly back into his features, and you say his name, determined to stop it. "Dean. I trust you." He stares back at you for a long few seconds, searching your eyes. Then you grind yourself down onto the taut muscle of his thigh, and his jaw twitches. "Scarf. Top drawer."

"If you want to keep those clothes, you should get them off," he says, his voice low, gruff with desire. He lets you go, striding towards the dresser across the room.

Your hands shake as you undress, moving to stand by the bed, your lip trapped in your teeth. He turns, the scarf in his hands, his chest rising with the intake of breath as he sees you, naked and waiting for him. He makes a small gesture towards the bed, and you lie down, moving to the center and then moving your arms above your head. He swears softly, and then he's above you, straddling your body. He gently binds your wrists together, then ties the scarf to the headboard. His hand moves to your face, and he speaks softly. "You okay? Is it too tight?"

You tug a little at the binding, then meet his eyes again, shaking your head. Your breathing is shallow, your heart pounding, and your entire body feels like a live wire. He bends to kiss you, sucking gently on your bottom lip as he pulls back. He moves from the bed to undress, and you feel so tightly wound that you wonder if you'll come at his first touch.

You watch him, your breath hitching in your chest. You already ache to touch him, the ripple and swell of muscle on his long, lithe form causing a throbbing ache between your thighs. He puts a knee on the bed, climbing up beside you, and you tug at your bonds. You want so badly to reach out, take his throbbing cock in your hands, and lick the bead of moisture from the head. "Already, sweetheart? I haven't even touched you. Yet," he teases, a predatory smirk curving his sinful lips. He bends to nip sharply at your neck, soothing the bite with his tongue. He braces himself on the bed above you, covering every exposed inch of your neck and shoulders with kisses, stopping occasionally to mark you. Your nipples are so rigid that they hurt, and when he finally flicks his tongue over one, you arch up beneath him with a cry. "So sensitive, baby," he moans, running his tongue around it again, then looking down at you, his eyes passion-dark and gleaming. "I'll bet I can make you come just from this."

You feel your center winding tighter and tighter as he goes to work. His tongue is teasing, teeth nipping and tugging gently, his soft lips pressing kisses all over your breasts. He nips a little harder, then a swirl of his tongue as he sucks your nipple into the heat of his mouth sends fire sizzling through every nerve as you let out a hoarse cry and come undone. He groans as he finally lets you go with a soft, wet pop, and you shudder as he moves up to take your lips in a hungry kiss. He rests his forehead against yours for a moment, then raises up to look into your eyes. "That was beautiful, sweetheart. I want to see you do that again."

You whimper in answer as he kisses his way down your chest and belly, and you feel the tension building again. He reaches down to part your legs, moving between them, and you're not sure you will survive this.

He settles his shoulders between your thighs, slipping his arms beneath your knees, wrapping them back around. He spreads his fingers over the heated skin of your hips, his thumbs braced against your mound. He pulls back on your flesh, opening you completely to his ravenous gaze, and moans. "Fuck, baby…" he whispers, and you struggle to move, desperate for his touch.

"Please… Dean, please," you whimper, and he lets out a dark chuckle as he runs the flat of his tongue feather-light over you, making you shudder. He does it again and again, a little harder each time, leaving you trembling. When he buries his tongue inside you, you shout his name, swearing and begging in one unending stream. "Fuck! Dean! Dammit…. Oh, god… please…" Your head is thrashing back and forth on the pillow as he works at you, hitting all your secret places, your arms straining against the restraints as he slowly drives you mad. He moves one arm across your hips to hold you down, shifting his other hand between your legs and plunging two fingers deep as he pulls your clit between his lips. He sucks hard, his tongue flicking at the swollen nub, driving you over the edge. You scream, everything going white and silent, only the sound of your own pulse in your ears. You whimper at his touch on your sensitive flesh, but he's gentle now, almost soothing.

He places a soft kiss on your pussy, pulling his fingers slowly from you, sucking your juices from his fingers before moving up to lay beside you. He kisses you, and you are barely responsive, so sated and relaxed that you can't move, can barely think. "Baby?" he whispers, and your eyelids flutter open, his face a soft blur before your eyes.

"Hi," you manage with a weak smile, and you can see his lips curve in response. He reaches for the scarf, untying the knots and releasing you, unwrapping it from your wrists and carefully lowering your arms.

"Roll over, sweetheart," he says, and he helps you move to your stomach. He sweeps the hair from your neck, massaging your shoulders, relaxing the stiff muscles. After a few minutes, you let out a quiet sigh of utter bliss, and he kisses the nape of your neck. As he bends to do it again, you feel him, still hard, his arousal smearing over the skin of your thigh. You move to your back, taking him in your hand, startling a groan from him. He kisses you hard, and you swallow the sound he makes when you swipe your thumb over the head of his cock, making him twitch.

"Come here," you whisper against his lips, and he rears his head back as you squeeze your fingers a little tighter around him.

"Are you su…"

"Dean. Fuck me. Now." You stare up at him, and his eyes flutter closed for a split second before he moves between your legs. You wrap them around him, feeling him nudge against you, and then he slides in to his base. All is silent save for your ragged breaths, and he keeps himself still for what seems like forever. Your body is clenched around him, and you can feel him pulse, throbbing and hot, inside you. "Take what you need," you against his ear, your nails dragging whisper-light over his shoulders. His biceps are bulging with the effort of staving off his end, and you dig your fingers into the taut muscle.

"Fuck, _fuck_ , baby, I just wanna stay here forever, you feel so damn good," he manages, his voice wrecked. You shift slightly, and it breaks him, tearing a growl from his throat as he begins to move. Delicious tension is building within you again, tears in your eyes at the intensity as he strokes into you, brushing that sweet spot inside of you with each thrust. His hips are moving faster and harder, and you are bucking up to meet him. You shatter gently this time, pinpricks of light like falling stars behind your eyes. He comes hard, quaking beneath your fingertips, lowering himself slowly to rest against you. There is nothing but the sensation of him inside you, your core fluttering around the slowly ebbing flood of his heat within you.

Tears are sliding unheeded down your cheeks. You don't know why, you don't try to analyze. He doesn't ask, doesn't question, just kisses them away before moving to your lips. When he finally pulls himself from you, surrounding you with his arms, you just fit yourself close to him, closing your eyes.


	10. Chapter 10

You wake to a soft knock at the door, and you can tell from the way Dean clears his throat that he's awake as well. "Yeah?" he rasps, passing his free hand over his face.

"Guys. I'm sorry to bother you. But I finally got hold of Crowley."

Dean's muscles tense, all drowsiness gone in an instant. "Is he here?"

"No. I told him we'd meet him. Half an hour, the bar in town."

You move, trying to get up, but Dean's arm tightens a little around you. "Yeah, okay. Be right there." His hand moves to your chin, and he tilts your head up to kiss you. "I think you should stay here."

You kiss him back, then raise up to look into his eyes. "No."

"Why do you always have to fight me?"

"Why do you always have to be so archaic?"

He frowns. "Archaic?"

You put a hand on his chest, tracing over his skin with your fingertips. "Yes. Archaic. Me man, me protect woman. Would you prefer caveman?" An affectionate smile softens your words, and he grins in spite of himself.

"If I get to drag you into my cave and… damn, now I've got a picture in my head, you in a little fur bikini…"

You giggle, give him a little tap on the chest, and pull away, throwing the covers back. "Whatever gets you off, Neanderthal boy. But we'd better get dressed, don't wanna be late for a meeting with the King of Hell."

It's a short drive into town, and you all sit, looking at each other for a moment. "Sure you won't wait here?" Dean asks, actually asks instead of ordering, but you shake your head, stubborn.

"I think if we're a team, then we're a team. Every step of the way. No more secrets, no more hiding things. That's what you wanted, am I right?" You catch his eye in the rear view mirror, your tone gentle as you lean up from the back seat and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Yeah. You're right. I just don't want…"

"…me to get hurt. I know." You lean up to kiss his cheek. "I'm with you and Sam. I'm safe as I have ever been my whole life."

"Just do me one favor. Don't talk to him. Don't let him bait you. Okay?" You nod, and Dean turns his head to kiss you. "Well… let's do this."

You walk into the bar together, Dean's hand, protective, at your elbow. Sam nods his head towards a corner booth, and you see Dean's jaw clench a little as he nods, then urges you forward. Dean lets you slide in first, taking a seat beside you, while Sam sits next to the demon king.

"So. Brought the precious, I see," he says, his eyes gliding over you. He gives a little shrug as you stare back, unimpressed, and he turns his full attention to Dean. "How're things?"

"This is not a social call, Crowley," Dean growls.

"Come now, Squirrel. We used to have quite a good time together." Crowley's eyes rest on you again. "Has he told you about the triplets?"

Dean shifts in his seat, and you put a hand on his forearm, just enough to ground him. Sam turns to face the much shorter man, his lips pressed in a thin line. "Shut up, Crowley. Are you gonna listen, or should we just leave now?"

"Winchesters. Wet blankets, every one." Crowley raises his chin, one hand rubbing at the dark stubble, and glares at Dean. "Well? What ridiculous request are you making this time?"

"We need to find a witch named Rowena." Every muscle in Dean's body is tense, and you slide your hand down to lace your fingers in his.

"What the bloody hell do you need her for?" Sam frowns even deeper at Crowley's raised voice.

"Keep it down. We need her to translate something for us. And perform a spell. Maybe."

"You found the Book of the Damned." Sam's mouth drops open for a split second, then clamps shut for a moment before he responds.

"How do you know that?"

"That's the only place I know of that carries a spell to remove the mark. But there's been no trace of it for centuries. Where did you find it?" A glint of avarice gleams in his dark eyes, and Dean shakes his head.

"You won't be getting your hands on it, Crowley. So forget it," he snaps, and the demon turns an angry glare on him.

"This is hardly the time to be intractable, Squirrel. You called me, remember?"

"You remember, Crowley, that what helps us - helps you. If worse comes to worst, and this thing takes me over? So help me, you're the first thing I'm coming after."

You watch, your pulse racing a little as Dean and the King of Hell have a stare-down. Crowley's lip curls in a disgusted sneer as he looks away, shaking his head. "Can't believe I listened to you sing karaoke for nights on end, put up with your rutting ways, and now I'm treated like this. You are an ungrateful prat. After all I've done for you? You'd be dead, permanently dead, if I hadn't stepped in, don't forget that!"

"Listen, you son of a bitch…" You squeeze Dean's hand as he barks back, but Sam interrupts.

"Dean!" Sam's sharp tone puts an end to the bickering, and he glances around the bar. Your table hasn't drawn too much attention, and he takes a breath, relieved. "Enough arguing, you two! Crowley, do you know this Rowena, or not?"

The angry demon lets out a frustrated snort. "You might say that."

Sam sighs, impatient. "Well, can you find her or not?"

"Of course I can. It might take a minute. Don't call me, I'll call you." With an arrogant toss of his head and a snap of his fingers, he vanishes from sight.

—–

A full day passes before you hear from Crowley. Dean is climbing the walls, frustrated at his inability to act – to do something, anything. Sam bites his tongue a lot, and you – you do your best to keep Dean calm, to soothe the rage that the mark tries to flare to life at each opportunity. When Sam's phone rings, you all stand silent, and you close your eyes, hoping with everything that's in you.

"No." Sam sounds adamant, and you wonder what Crowley said. "Neutral ground. Not negotiable, Crowley." He glances up at you, tension evident in his face. "Address?" He jots it down, then ends the call. "On our way." He looks at Dean, who takes a step forward, impatient.

"Well?"

"There's an old airplane hanger not too far from here. I've got the address." Sam swallows hard. "He's got her."

You feel relief flood through you for a fleeting moment. "Do you think – should we bring the book?"

"We have to." Dean takes a deep breath, but Sam continues before he can begin. "Dean, we have to know if she can read it. And we can't do that unless she can see it."

"Crowley wants that book."

"Yeah, well – he can't have it. I had Cas add a little – security feature. It can't be opened, or stay open, unless one of us is touching it." He looks directly into your eyes. "Unless _you're_ touching it."

"Me?" Your voice squeaks a little, and Dean's face contorts in a thunderous frown.

"Sam!"

"That way you and I are free to keep an eye on them, Dean! And you can't touch it, you said it yourself. It feeds the mark. I thought it was the best option." He looks your way again, apologetic.

"Sam, it's okay. I can do this. I'll feel better knowing you both have my back, anyway."

Dean's jaw is working, his teeth clamped tight, and you can see how hard he's fighting to control an outburst. When he turns and heads for the garage, you nod to Sam. "Get the book, Sam. I'll try to calm him down."

You follow his path, finding him leaning against the trunk of the Impala, arms folded across his chest. You approach him quietly, stepping up close as you look up at him, even though he won't look you in the eye. You slip your hands around his waist and lay your face against his chest, and finally he relents, putting his arms around you. "If anything happens to you because of me…"

"Nothing will. I'll be fine. You and Sam will take them down in a heartbeat if they try anything."

"Don't let her touch you."

"I won't."

"Don't even look into her eyes."

"Promise."

"I mean it." He takes you by the shoulders, his grip none too gentle, and backs you away from him until you look into his eyes. "She's a witch. A powerful one. Do not look into her eyes."

"I won't, Dean. I promise. I'll keep my eyes on the book, and my hands as far from her as I can. You just stay calm and focus on keeping them in line." You reach to touch his face, and his eyes close for a moment as he leans into your touch. You stand on tiptoe to kiss him, and he yanks you up against him, returning your kiss like his life depends on it. When you hear Sam clear his throat, you break slowly away and give Dean a gentle smile. He blows out a tense breath, then nods.

Sam holds up his phone before stuffing it into his pocket. "Charlie called. She's meeting us there. Backup."

You wait in the Impala for Charlie's little Plymouth POS to pull in. "So, a witch. Not an Oz-type witch, I hope. Had enough of that."

"I don't think we really know what to expect, Charlie," Sam answers. "The last one was right out of a fairy tale, so…"

"This one is probably more the nightmare type. Don't make eye contact, don't let her touch you." Dean stares at Charlie until she nods in agreement.

"Eyes down, no touching, got it."

He takes hold of your hand. "All right, let's get this shit show started."

You walk beside him to the building, giving him a quick smile as he glances at you before reaching for the door, Sam and Charlie right behind you. The light is dim inside, but you can make out Crowley standing next to a tiny woman in a long black gown. As you draw near, you can see she is petite and beautiful, with long, flaming red tresses almost to her waist. You lower your eyes to their feet, keeping Dean's warnings in mind, and wait.

"Crowley." Dean's response is anything but friendly.

"Squirrel. Brought the entourage, I see."

"Is this her?" Tension is coming off him in waves, and you squeeze his hand gently.

"This is Rowena. Mother, these are the Winchesters. And company." Crowley smiles almost triumphantly at the shock on all your faces as your four pairs of eyes stare back at him.

"Sam…" Dean says his brother's name quietly.

"Dean, we stick to the plan. It's the only one we've got."

The woman speaks, a strong Scottish lilt to her words. "Well, is anyone going to ask me what I want?"

"No, Mother. They're not. You're going to translate this spell, get rid of this albatross around my neck, and then we'll all go about our business, annoying each other at a distance as it should be." Crowley's voice is sharp and loud, and Rowena looks at him.

"You were always an unlikable child, Fergus." She turns her attention to Dean. "You have the Mark of Cain?"

"That's right."

"And you have the Book of the Damned?"

"Yeah." Sam steps forward, the book in his hands, and lays it on the table in front of them. Rowena's eyes light up, a faint smile on her face.

"I never thought I'd see the day that this would be in my presence. So much power, I can feel it." She reaches for it, fingers at the edge of the cover, then looks up sharply. "Why won't it open?"

"Insurance." Her lips tighten as Sam raises his chin defiantly with his answer.

"Well, I can hardly find the spell for you this way, can I?"

Sam turns, and you look at him, then pull at your hand until Dean reluctantly releases it. You meet each other's eyes, and you wait until a small nod from him tells you he's okay for the moment before you step forward. Sam puts a hand on your shoulder, speaking in a quiet but threatening voice. "She has to be touching the book, or it won't open. You don't speak to her, you don't touch her, you don't look at her, Rowena. We'll have you covered the whole time. And you know the Mark of Cain makes Dean a little twitchy, so don't push your luck."

You hear Dean draw his gun, and then Sam steps back and does the same. Charlie shoots you a quick wink and pulls her weapon as well, and you take a step forward, reaching out to touch the book. The witch's well-manicured hand eagerly opens the cover, and you hear her sigh as she runs her fingers over the first page. "Middle of the book. That's where the picture of the mark is. Keep moving," Sam warns, and Rowena shoots him a little glare.

"You realize how much power there is to be gained here? What a waste it is to let all this ancient knowledge…"

"Don't care. Get to it." Dean's growl sends a shiver through you, and you can almost feel the mark on his arm pulsing with aggression.

The witch huffs out a breath, frustrated. "Fine. I'd think a little gratitude would be in order, but…"

"Mother! Get on with it," Crowley orders, and she makes a face at him before beginning to turn pages.

Every muscle in your body feels clenched, the tension in the room is almost unbearable. When Rowena finally turns to the page you're waiting for, you hold your breath. A perfect replica of the Mark of Cain covers the entire page on the left, and a few words in an incomprehensible language are on the right. The witch runs a red-tipped finger beneath them as she concentrates, then straightens. "You may want to jot this down."

Sam glances at Charlie, and she pulls out her phone. "Hit me."

"It's a blood spell. First we'll need the ingredients. I have the usual ones at my disposal, but some of these will have to come from you."

"Like what?" Dean's question is clipped, impatient, but Rowena looks at him calmly.

"Blood of the Cursed. Blood of your Blood. Blood of your Heart. Blood of the Damned."

"That's a lot of blood," Charlie quips, typing the words into her phone. "And what else?"

Rowena is still staring at Dean, and he forgets his own warning as he glares back at the tiny woman. "After we mix the blood potion, it must be poured over the First Blade. Then the weapon must be used to kill the Father of Murder, Cain – and the mark will die with him."


	11. Chapter 11

**FINAL CHAPTER, guys. Finally. Those of you that are still with me, THANK YOU for your patience while I struggled to finish this. I hope you enjoy. As I said on my main page, this will be the final post for me on this site. Please feel free to check out my Tumblr/AO3 sites rizlowwritessortof - thank you all for being so awesome 3**

* * *

"All right, enough with the cryptic bullshit!" Dean takes a step closer to Rowena, his gun aimed for the spot right between her eyes. "What does all that mean?"

"Dean, calm down." You keep your voice steady, quiet. "Let's get the rest of the spell down, then we can figure it all out." You turn your head, staring at him, willing him to back his temper down until you can be free to put your arms around him. Your touch seems to soothe him better than words, but you can't let go of the book.

"Get on with it," he snaps at the witch, who throws a contemptuous glare his way before reciting the herbs and items for the spell, and then the spell itself. Charlie's thumbs fly as she puts all the information into her phone.

"That's it," Rowena says, haughty and disdainful as she looks at Dean again. You pull your hand back, and the book snaps shut with a loud thud. Sam steps forward and grabs it, then moves back, pulling Charlie with him.

"So, the blood. Blood of the cursed, that's me, right? Blood of my blood, has to be Sam."

"My, aren't you just the clever one?" Rowena purrs, and Dean's lip curls in a little snarl.

"Shut up. Blood of my heart – I assume that's…"

"The one you love." Rowena's eyes flick to you, then back to Dean, and you look up at him as his eyes move to you, then close for just a second before he continues.

"Okay, what about the blood of the damned? Can't mean Cain…"

"No. He's the target. We'll need someone else that's eternally damned. Like Fergus."

Crowley rolls his eyes as you all look to him. "So now I have to bleed for you lot?"

"Seems fair, since you're the one who started us down this road, you demonic asshole," you snap, and he sneers at you.

"Don't pretend you didn't enjoy it a little, love."

Your face flushes as you feel your blood pressure rise, but before you can take a step, Dean has a grip on your arm. "Shut your fucking mouth, Crowley." They glare at each other as Dean shoves you behind him. "All I need from you is the First Blade, and some of your blood. Keep the rest to yourself."

He looks back to Rowena. "How long's this gonna take? Getting everything together?"

"Give me a day. We can meet back here tomorrow."

"Crowley?" The demon king stares back at Dean, defiant, and then nods.

"Fine. Same time tomorrow. I want that mark gone and you out of my affairs."

"Likewise," Dean snarls, and with a touch of his hand, Crowley and Rowena disappear.

—

Dean is on edge, and watching him is making you tense as well. Everyone is quiet, the atmosphere strung tight like a trip wire just waiting for someone to set it off. You and Sam exchange a long look, and you finally move, tired of the inertia, and walk to Dean's side. He's lost in his thoughts, and he flinches as you touch his arm, startled. "Can we talk?" you ask, watching him swallow hard, his jaw clenching before he nods. You lace your fingers through his, looking up at him and pulling him gently along with you.

You enter the room you share with him and close the door behind you, then turn to put your arms around his waist, your face against his chest, holding him tight. He wraps his arms around you in answer, and you just hold each other for a moment. "What's going on in your head?" you whisper, tilting your head to look up at him. He clamps his lips together, giving a little shrug as he turns his head, closing his eyes, and you're surprised by the tears that fill your eyes. When you speak again, he looks at you, silent, letting you talk. "I feel so worthless. I want to fix this, make it better, and it pisses me off that I can't, Dean. And how do we know…" You hesitate, the thoughts swirling in your head too much to bear, and a tear spills over. He brushes it from your cheek with his finger as you go on. "What if… what if you can't kill him? What if destroying the mark kills you, too? We don't even know how this works, Dean! I can't lose you again. I can't." He raises his head, takes a breath as if he's going to speak, then just abandons the thought and kisses you, hard and desperate, and you respond to his need with your own. When you finally break apart, you gasp in a breath and plead with your eyes as you beg, "Please…"

"I know, baby… I know," he whispers, and then you are helping each other tear off clothes, desperate to be as close as possible to each other, no barriers between you. You fall onto the bed together, hands grasping, your kisses insatiable. He digs his fingers into your thigh as he pulls it high onto his hip, entering you in one rough thrust, and you both let out a long, low moan. You move together, fast and hard and needy, and he reaches down between you to help push you off the edge. When you fall, it shakes you to your center, your eyes squeezed shut at the intensity, and Dean is shuddering with his climax as you open them to look at him. Your body is trembling, and you cling to him, your emotions too strong for words. He holds you tight, whispering soothing sounds against your hair as you cry softly into his chest, and he doesn't speak, just hugs you harder. There are no answers to your questions, no guarantees, and your fears make you cling you him as if you'll never hold each other again. It's a long time before you loosen your grip and move apart.

Sam looks up, concern in his eyes, as you and Dean enter the room. He sees your swollen eyes, and rises to his feet, coming to pull you into his arms. "It's gonna be okay, Smalls. You have to believe that." He hugs you tight as his eyes meet his brother's, sending him the same message.

"Any word?" Dean asks as Sam releases you, and Dean puts an arm around you, pulling you to his side.

"Cas is looking for Cain. Haven't heard…"

"I found him." You all jump a little at Cas' voice behind you, and Dean turns with an annoyed frown.

"Damn it, Cas! Everybody's on edge around here, you might wanna remember that. Before you get shot."

"Your bullets can't harm me, Dean."

"Not the point, Cas."

Sam rolls his eyes. "No. Not the point. Either of you. Where is he, Cas?"

"He's going to Ohio. He's killing again, murdering every one of his descendants that he can track down, trying to rid the world of his bloodline." Cas looks at Dean, a worried frown cut deep into his brow. "I found one of his burial sites. And the next person on his list is a twelve-year-old boy."

"In the morning we meet with Crowley and Rowena. Then we can drive to Ohio, head him off," Sam says, but Cas shakes his head.

"It will be too late. We need to leave now." He and Sam look at each other silently for a moment before Sam nods.

"Okay. Fill us in on the details, Cas. I'll contact Crowley, they can meet us there."

—–

You stand next to Dean, unconsciously leaning as close as you can, unwilling to leave his side. You're hiding the panic beginning to bubble up inside you, fighting it with everything you've got.

Cain is inside the barn, unable to leave the huge devil's trap that covers nearly the entire floor. Dean had reluctantly agreed to ask Crowley for help, yet again, in order to save Austin Tolliver's life. Crowley and Rowena's illusion spell lured him into the barn, and now… Now he just waits patiently for Dean.

Sam stands with his arm outstretched, dripping blood into a ceremonial bowl. Dean has already made his contribution, then allowed you to lovingly wrap the wound in clean gauze, feeling his eyes on you the entire time and avoiding his concerned stare. Sam finishes, and Charlie pulls him aside to bandage his arm. Rowena looks Dean's way as she speaks. "Blood of your heart."

You step forward, still not looking at Dean, letting your hand touch his briefly as you move towards the witch. You hold out your arm, stoic, your teeth clenched against the bite of the blade into the flesh of your forearm. Your blood is warm, running down to mingle with the rest of the ingredients in the bowl. The few moments you stand there seem endless, and then you feel Dean's hands on your shoulders. "Okay?"

You nod, and Rowena looks up at him, giving her nod of approval for him to pull you away and care for the cut. His jaw works as he wraps your arm, hands gentle as they touch you, and you cringe inwardly at the thought that soon those same hands will be killing again, covered in someone else's blood.

He feels the tension in your body as he smooths the gauze and tapes it in place. Before you can turn away, escape his perusal, he takes hold of your elbow, and you look up in reflex. "Talk to me."

Your emotions surprise you, almost overwhelming you for a few seconds, but you force them down, looking down at your neatly bandaged arm. "I'm okay."

"No. You're not."

You look into his eyes, tears filling yours. "I don't want you to go in there, Dean."

Dean bites at his lips, watching as Sam supervises Crowley's grudging donation to the blood collection. "I have to, Y/N. We'd have to stop him even without this thing on my arm. He's out to murder half of the world."

"What if you can't beat him? What if he's too powerful, Dean?"

"I have to try." You swipe angrily at a tear that manages to escape, trickling down your cheek.

You step into his arms, hugging him so tight he lets out a small grunt of surprise. "I know."

"Dean." Sam's voice is soft, a quiet reminder, and Dean kisses the top of your head as he takes you by the arms and steps back, looking to his brother. "We're ready."

Dean's hands leave you reluctantly, and he moves to the table. Crowley hands the First Blade to Sam, who lays it on a tray next to the bowl. Rowena is sprinkling herbs into the bowl, then looks to Charlie, who pulls her phone from her pocket. She scrolls through, finding the spell and holding the phone so that Rowena can read.

She mumbles the unfamiliar words, dropping a pinch of powder or a sprinkle of herbs here and there. One last phrase, a final crumbling of an aromatic flower, and a soft puff of smoke signals the end of her work. She bows her head, stepping back. "Now it must be poured over the blade. By you." She is looking at Dean, and he gives a hesitant nod.

He picks up the bowl after a moment of hesitation, then pours it slowly over the blade. You all watch, barely breathing, as he performs the ritual, waiting for something – anything – to happen. The hushed anticipation is just beginning to seep away into disappointment at the anticlimax when you hear it, a low thrumming, becoming louder each second, and your eyes are all riveted on the First Blade, which is now vibrating violently. When the bloodthirsty weapon has drunk in all that was offered, the vibrations stop. Dean's eyes raise to meet your gaze, his features drawn with tension. He blows out a breath, then speaks quietly. "Sam – I don't want to touch that thing until I'm at the door. Can you…"

Sam nods, stepping forward and putting a hand on his shoulder. Dean ducks his head slightly, acknowledging his brother's support, and moves back, letting Sam grasp the weapon and raise it carefully. You move to join them as they walk towards the room where Cain is trapped and waiting. The three of you stop as you reach the door, and Sam swallows hard. "Dean, let me come with you."

Dean is shaking his head before the sentence is even complete. "Sammy, you know I have to be the one to do this. It's the only way." You can't bear to look at Sam as he nods, his emotions playing over his face, and then Dean turns to you. You put your hand on his chest, pressing over his heart, feeling the strong beat beneath your fingers. There are no words, they won't leave your throat, so you just look into his eyes. He bends to kiss you, not on the lips, but on your forehead as he covers your hand with his and squeezes. Then he moves away, and you let him go, your face crumpling as soon as he turns his back.

Sam puts one big hand on his brother's shoulder again, slowly raising the First Blade, offering it to him. As Dean's hand closes around the grip, the blade sings with a resonant hum, and you see him gasp at the contact. He sets his expression, cold determination in his eyes, and reaches for the door.

Sam surrounds you with his arms as the solid sound of the door closing echoes through the room and your legs turn to jello. You can't even cry, you just cling to him as desperately as he does to you, holding each other together.

You know it's only been minutes, but it feels as if time has stopped, frozen at it's most horrific moment, leaving your mind to wander through an infinite number of scenarios. You can picture the battle in your head, you can hear the scuffling, the occasional thud of a body hitting the ground, and you know you'll have nightmares about the scene you're imagining for some time to come. When the sounds stop, the silence descending ominously, you pull away from Sam and stare at that door, waiting, afraid to breathe, afraid to look away. A desperate shout sends goosebumps down your arms, and it becomes an agonized cry, a roar of pain. Before Sam can stop you, you yank the door open and rush inside, Sam right behind you, trying to pull you back as you call out Dean's name.

He stands, his arms flung wide, the blade still in his hand, Cain dead at his feet. Something, some force, fills the air with a sizzling electricity, tendrils of what look like lightning dancing around Dean, enveloping him as he thrashes helplessly in its grip. Sam's hand clamps down, an iron shackle holding you in place as you try to pull away, to go to Dean's side.

Sam is shouting Dean's name, both of you looking on in horror at his torture. No one could survive this, you think in a panic, and then a blinding flash, a _whoomp_ like a tightly contained explosion has you squeezing your eyes shut and covering your ears as you sink to the rough wooden floor, Sam falling to his knees beside you.

You struggle to your feet as soon as the light dims, dizzy and disoriented, and stumble towards where Dean lies face down next to Cain. You are sobbing as you drop down beside him, Sam landing on his other side, and together you roll him to his back. "Dean! Dean…" You're touching him, grabbing his hand, and Sam is checking him for signs of life, feeling for a pulse as he says his brother's name along with you.

"Smalls! He's alive! Dean!" Sam is patting his brother's face, and you watch with Dean's hand clutched to your chest, your face wet with tears as he tries to revive him. "Come on, Dean. Wake up, man."

A bone-deep groan resonates from Dean's chest, and you grip his hand even tighter, watching as he struggles to open his eyes. "Sammy?" he manages to rasp out, and then his head rolls and his eyes drift open, slowly focusing on yours. "Hey, baby," he says in a rough whisper before coughing, and Sam calls out to Charlie for some water. She grabs the bottle from her bag, running towards you and standing there, looking down at Dean with a smile. He tries to sit up, you and Sam giving him a helping hand, and takes the water gratefully, downing most of it in one steady stream. "Thanks, Charlie," he says, his voice a little more solid now, and then he turns his focus to you. "Well? Is it gone?"

Your eyes widen, your mouth drops open, and you pull his hand away from your chest, pushing at his sleeve. You shove at it until it's far enough to see where the mark should be, but all you see is his denim shirt. "Take this jacket off," you order, pulling on the sleeve as Sam helps get his arm free. You fumble with the cuff buttons, swearing softly in frustration at your shaking hands. Finally you manage to unbutton the uncooperative things, and you force the sleeve up to his elbow, turning his forearm upward. You stare at the unblemished skin, half crying, half laughing as you look at him. "It's gone. Dean, it's gone!"

—

You're all back home, finally.

After sending Cas off on a mission to destroy the First Blade, which sent Crowley into a demonic snit, storming off with his mother in tow, the rest of you climbed into the Impala for the long drive home. You all ganged up on Dean, finally convincing him to take the back seat with you and let Sam drive the first leg of the trip with Charlie as copilot. Dean stretched out as much as possible, pulling you halfway on top of him and into his arms, and you stayed that way until Sam couldn't keep his eyes open and gave in, asking Dean to take over.

You are all exhausted as you drag yourselves into the bunker, the almost fifteen hour drive straight through at long last over. You trudge wearily behind Dean, dropping face-first onto the mattress as he chuckles softly. "Come on, Y/N. At least get comfortable."

You groan, then force yourself to get up again. Dean strips down to his boxers in no time, crawling under the covers, and you pull everything off but your underwear, grabbing a clean t-shirt from the drawer. Dean folds the blankets back, welcoming you in, and you snuggle up to him, the heat from his body making you sigh with contentment. His arms settle around you and you both fall asleep in seconds.

A loud moan wakes you some time later, and you realize that it came from you. There are warm, soft lips wrapped around one of your nipples, calloused fingers dragging slowly over your clit, sending sparks through every nerve in your body. "Dean…" you gasp softly as he hums against your breast, his tongue stroking across the taut bud in his mouth.

He doesn't answer you right away, he's very busy not talking at the moment, rubbing his erection against your hip in rhythm with his fingers. They are dipping into you a little deeper with every downstroke, and your body is moving to meet him, aching for more. You whimper a little, and Dean finally raises his head, moving to kiss you. "You have no idea how good this feels," he murmurs against your lips, and you giggle a little.

"Well, I might have an inkling." He smiles, and you're still kissing each other through your smiles, and it's happy and silly and wonderful.

Then he stops, looking down at you as his fingers continue to play. "I mean… it feels awesome to want to just take my time, really enjoy touching you and tasting you and kissing you instead of feeling so…"

"Desperate about it?" you offer, and he nods.

"Yeah. Not that I didn't always enjoy it," he teases as he thrusts two fingers knuckle deep into your welcoming softness, and he grins as you suck in a sharp breath. "Just, sometimes I like to just savor the moment, you know?" He kisses you again, still talking in between little nibbles of your lips. "You're my favorite thing to play with."

You're getting close, and he knows it, kissing little sucking kisses along your jaw line, nipping the sensitive spot just behind your ear, making little quiet groaning noises like he's tasting the most delicious thing ever. His thumb starts rubbing a little more focused into your clit, and then he just strokes the fingers inside of you over that spot that sings through you like a Mariah Carey high note, and you almost shout his name as you quiver and quake beneath his touch.

"One hell of a way to wake up, Winchester," you sigh as he kisses his way back from your shoulder to your lips.

"Are you completely awake now? Because I'd really like to join the party," he teases, rutting against you with a grin.

"Oh, please, do come in," you answer cheekily, and he chuckles as he shifts his sturdy body between your thighs, propped on his forearms and lowering himself to kiss you. As his tongue sweeps over your lips and into your mouth, he pushes in, smooth and slow. He's hot, and rigid, and if you lay very still you can feel him pulsing inside you… it's heaven and sweet torment at the same time. "Dean," you manage to force out between kisses, and he raises his head to look at you, that fake 'innocent' look on his face.

"Yes, baby?"

"If you don't move, I'm going to flip you over and ride you like we're in the Kentucky Derby."

He laughs, and you can't help but smile widely at the sound. "Yes, ma'am." He still teases for a moment, pulling back and pushing in so slowly you think you'll scream. But then he hits a rhythm, and damn, the man is a maestro with his hips. He has just the right little 'nnfff' at just the right time, and he slips his arms beneath your thighs to lift them, changing the angle from 'damn that feels good' to 'oh sweet merciful heaven.' "How's that for moving, sweetheart?" he asks, a smirk on his face that tells you he knows _exactly_ how amazing it is, and you just whimper in reply.

Then he just gets down to business, and neither of you is capable of speech between the driving thrusts and the bursts of pleasure sizzling through your bodies. He swears softly, and the look of pure unbridled bliss on his face is enough to send you into another high. He moans loudly as you squeeze, tight and trembling around him, and then shifts into high gear, pounding his way to an explosion of pulsing heat inside you.

He rests his head in your shoulder for a while, basking in the feeling of your fingertips in his hair and caressing the smooth, supple muscles of his biceps and back. When he finally raises up, kissing you gently, you smile into his eyes, your hand tracing his jaw, your feelings for him making your voice quaver a little as you speak.

"Welcome back, baby."

THE END


End file.
